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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVi/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Micrcreproductions  /  institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


□    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


D 


Couverture  endommagde 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicul6e 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

□   Coloured  maps/ 
Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


D 
D 


D 


D 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  finding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lorb  d'une  restauration  apparais^ant  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  dt6  filmdes. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
una  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquto  ci-dessous. 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


D 
D 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxei 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualiti  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materia 
Comprend  du  m&tdriel  suppl^mentaire 


I  I  Pages  damaged/ 

I  I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

I  1  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I  I  Pages  detached/ 

I  I  Showthrough/ 

I  I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I  I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Only  edition  availai:/ie/ 
Seule  Edition  dispo  ,iible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc..  ont  6t6  filmdas  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  rati-"  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 

IPX  14X  18X 22X 

I    I     I    I    I    I    I     I    I     |y|    I    I     I 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


ails 

du 

difier 

jne 

lage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grSce  d  la 
g6n6ros!td  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  !e 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimis  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soi;  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
prei^iidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END '), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  !e 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  oignifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m§thode. 


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A  FRENCHMAN 

IN  AMERICA 


SwolUctiotts  0t  |«Xjctt  iiXiH  Shlnfls 


BY 


MAX   O'RELL  ic   ti- cbU-.rt 


AUTHOR  OF   "JONATHAN  AND   HIS  CONTINENT,"   "JOHN   BULL,    JUNIOR," 
"JACQUES   BONHOMME,"   "JOHN  BULL  AND  HIS  ISLAND,"  ETC. 


WITH  OVER   ONE  HUNDRED  AND    tHIRTY  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY  E.    W.   KEMBLE 


NEW   YORK 

ASSELL   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

T04  &  106  Fourth  Avenue 


u  /6  S 


1454  Of; 


Copyright,  iS()i,  uy 
CASSELL  I'ULLISHING  COMPANY. 

Ail  rights  reservfd. 


THE    MERSHON   COMPANY    PRESS, 
RAHWAY,   N.   J. 


V\ 


CONTENTS. 


f  HAJ-TKR. 

I.-Departt.r.-The  Atlantic-De.norali.a.ion  of  the  '■  lioarders--""" 
lietl.ni,- 1  he  Auctic.eer-An  Inquisitive  ^•ankee. 


H.-Arrival  of  the  Mlot-First  Look  at  An.crican  Newspapers 
I,r._AnivaI-The  Custom  IIouse-Thin^.s  I.ook  Uad-The  Inter 

IV.— Impressions  of  American  Hotels, 

'''"''Had'Ti"'^/'"'"^''^"'"^""^  °"  ^-•---  I  Have 
Had- 1  he  Man  who  Won't  Smiie-The  One  who  Lau.^hl 
too  Soon,  and  Many  Others,  .  ^-auglis 

VI.-A  Connecticut  Audience-Merry  Meriden-A  Hard  Pull 
VII.-A  Tempting  Offer-The  Thursday  Club-Bill  Nye-Vilit  to 

V  oung  Ladies'  Schools-The  Players'  Club, 
VHI.-The  Flourishing  of  Coats-of-Arms  in  America-R.nections 

HorVh    w  '?:"  '^"'^  '°  ^'^^— 'f^he  Phonograp     a 
Home- f  he  Wealth  of  New  York-Departure  for  Buffalo 

IX.-D,fferent  Ways  of  Advertising  a  Lecture-American  Imnres 
sanos  and  Their  Methods,    .  -  mciican  Impres- 

X.— Buffalo— The    Niagara    Falls— A.     Fr^cf     u     u 

^"■~frr?u°"    """'"''"    ^Vomen-Comparisons-IIow     Men 
Treat  NN  omen  and  Vice  Versa-Scenes  and  lllustraZs 

vii 


I 
II 

14 

25 

37 
48 


60 
66 

74 

81 

90 


vm 


CONTENTS. 


!:i 


i.l. 


1;  ' 


CHAPTER.  PAGH. 

XIII. — More  about  Journalism  in  America — A  Dinner  at  Delmoni- 

co's — My  First  Appearance  in  an  American  Church,      .         .110 

XIV. — Marcus  Aurelius  in  America — Chairmen  I  Have  Had — 
American,  English,  and  Scotch  Chairmen — One  who  had 
Been  to  Boulogne — Talkative  and  Silent  Chairmen — A  Try- 
ing Occasion — The  Lord  is  Asked  to  Allow  the  Audience  to 
See  my  Point ,, 124 

XV. — Reflections  on  the  Typical  American, 137 

XVI. — I  am  Asked  to  Express  Myself  Freely  on  America — I  Meet 
Mrs.  Blank  and  for  the  First  Time  Hear  of  Mr.  Blank — 
Beacon  Street  Society — The  Boston  Clubs,    ....   149 

XVII. — A  Lively  Sunday  in  Boston — Lecture  in  the  Boston  Thea- 
ter—  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  —  The  Booth-Modjeska 
Combination 156 

XVIII.— St.  Johnsbury— The  State  of  Maine— New  England  Self- 
control — Cold  Climates  and  Frigid  Audiences — Where  is  the 
Audience  ? — All  Drunk  ! — A  Reminiscence  of  a  Scotch  Audi- 
ence on  a  Saturday  Night, 163 

XIX. — A  Lovely  Ride  to  Canada — Quebec,  a  Corner  of  Old  France 
Strayed  up  and  Lost  in  the  Snow — The  French  Canadians — 
The  Parties  in  Canada — Will  the  Canadians  become  Yankees?  172 

XX. — Montreal — The    City — Mount     Royal — Canadian     Sports — 

Ottawa— The  Government — Rideau  Hall,         .         .         .         182 

XXL— Toronto— The    City— The    Ladies— The    Sports— Strange 

Contrasts — The  Canadian  Schools, 191 

XXII.-- -West  Canada — Relations  between  British  and  Indians — 
Return  to  the  United  States — Difficulties  in  the  Way — En- 
counter with  an  American  Custom-House  Officer,  .         .   196 

XXIIL— Chicago  (First  Visit)— The  "  Neighborhood"  of  Chicago 
— The  History  of  Chicago — Public  Servants — A  Very  Deaf 
Man 203 

XXIV. — St.  Paul  and  Minneapolis,  the  Sister  Cities — Rivalries  and 

Jealousies  between  Large  American  Cities — Minnehaha  Falls  ^: 
— V/onderful  Interviewers — My  Hat  gets  into  Trouble  Again 
— Electricity   in   the   Air — Forest  Advertisements — Railway 
Speed  in  America,  . 214 


It  I 


CONTENTS.  jx 

CHAPTER. 

XXV.-Detroit-The  Town-The  Detroit  "  Free  Press  "-A  Lady'"'''' 
Interviewcr-The  "  Unco  Guid  "  in  Detroit-Reflections  on 
the  Anglo-Saxon  "  Unco  Guid,"   ... 

XXVI.-Miiwaukee-A  Well-filled  Day-Reflections  on  the  ^  nfch 

m  America— Chicago  Criticisms 336 

XXVII.-The  Monotony  of  Traveling  in  the  States-"  Manon 
Lescaut  "  in  America.    . 

244 

XXVIII.-For  the  First  Time  I  See  an  American  Paper  Abuse  Me 
-Albany  to  New  York-A  Lecture  at  Daly's  Theater- 
Afternoon  Audiences,   .  o 

248 

XXIX.— Wanderings  Through   New  York— Lecture  at   the    Har- 

monie  Club— Visit  to  the  Century  Ci-ib,        ...  35- 

XXX.— Visit  to  the  Brooklyn  Academy  of  Music— Rev  Dr   Tal 

"^^^ ■        .257 

XXXL-Virginia-The  Hotels-The  South-I  will  Kill  a  Railway 
Conductor  before  I  Leave  America-Philadelphia-Impres- 
sions  of  the  Old  City,   .  , 

■"  263 

XXXIL-My  Ideas  of  the  State  of  Texas-Why  I  will  not  Go 


There— The  Story  of  a  Frontier  Man, 

XXXIII.-Cincinnati-The  Town-The  Suburbs-A  German  City 
-"Over  the  Rhine  '-What  is  a  Good  Patriot  ?-An  Im- 
pressive Funeral  -A,Great  Fire-How  It  Appeared  to  Me 
and  How  It  Appeared  to  the  Newspaper  Reporters, 

XXXIV. -A  Journey  if  you   Like-Terrible  Encounter  with  an 
American  Interviewer, 


274 


279 


296 


XXXV.— The  University  of  Indiana-Indianapolis-The  Veterans 
of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  on  the  Spree— A  Marvel- 
ous  Equilibrist, 

XXXVI.— Chicago  (Second  Visit)— Vassili  Verestchagin's  Exhibi- 
tion-The  "  Angelus  "--Wagner  and  Wagnerites-Wander- 
4     'ngs  About  the  Big  City— I  Sit  on  the  Tribunal,    .        .         .311 

XXXVII.— Ann  Arbcr— The  University  of  Michigan-Detroit 
Again— The  FrtnchOut  of  France-Oberlin  College.  Ohio- 
Black  and  White— Are  All  American  Citizens  Equal  ?  .  322 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PACK 

XXXVIII. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal  in  New  York — Joseph  Jefferson 
— Julian  Hawthorne — Miss  Ada  Rehan — "As  You  Like  It  " 
at  Daly's  Theater, 


XXXIX.— Washington— The  City— Wiliard's  Hotel— The  Politi- 
cians— General  Benjamin  Harrison,  U.  S.  President — Wash- 
ington Society — Baltimore — Philadelphia 

XL. — Easter  Sunday  in  New  York,         ...... 

XLL— I  Mount  the  Pulpit  and  Preach  on  the  Sabbath,  in  the  State 
of  Wisconsin — The  Audience  is  Large  and  Appreciative;  but 
I  Probably  Fail  to  Please  One  of  the  Congregation, 

XLII. — The  Origin  of  American  Humor  and  Its  Characteristics — 

.     The  Sacred  and  the  Profane — The  Germans  and   American 

Humor — My  Corpse  Would  "  Draw,"  in  my   Impressario's 

Opinion,       .......... 

XLIII.— Good-by  to  America-^Not  "Adieu,"  but  "Au  Revoir  "— 

On  Board  the  Teufonic-^Home  Again 361 


33c 

332 
342 

347 


353 


A  Frenchman  in  America. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Av  ^.^"^'^^■^''s  -Betting-The  Auctioneer 
—An  Inquisitive  Yankee. 


On  board  the  "  Cdlic,"  Clirislmas  Wccl;  ,889 

I       Ta  T^T  °'  ""'"2^  "^^    ^'•"'"'"■^  was   to    have 
-I    sa,led  to-day,  but  the  date  is  the  25th  of  Decern! 

ber,  and  few  people  elect  to  eat  tl,eir  Christmas  di„. 

ner  on  the  ocean  if  they  can  avoid  it ;  so  there  are  o,  y 

mitted  to  the  brave  httle  CeMc,  while  that  huge  float 
■ng  pa  ace,  the  Taaomc,  remains  in  harbor. 

Little  ^Mc/    Has  it  come  to  this  with  her  and  her 
companions  the  G.r,„ani.,  the  Bnta„nic,  and  the  r 

nscirat  "°"'"'  'f  '"^  ^'°'y  °f  '"^  ^hip-build' 
ng  craft  a  few  years  ago  ?    There  is  something  almost 
sad  m  seeing  these  queens  of  the  Atlantic  dethroned 
and  obliged  to  rank  below  newer  and  grander  ships' 
It  was  even  pathetic  to  hear  the  remarks  of  the  saMors 
as  we   passed  the   G.n„ani.  who,   in  her  da^    hTd' 


Hi 


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a  A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 

created  even  more  wondering  admiration  than  the  two 
famous  armed  cruisers  lately  added  to  the  "  White 
Star  "  fleet. 


I  know  nothing  more  monotonous  than  a  voyage 
from  Liverpool  to  New  York. 

Nine  times  out  of  ten — not  to  say  ninety-nine  times 
out  of  a  hundred — the  passage  is  bad.  The  Atlantic 
Ocean  has  an  ugly  temper;  it  has  forever  got  its  back 
up.  Sulky,  angry,  and  terrible  by  turns,  it  only  takes 
a  few  days'  rest  out  of  every  year,  and  this  always  oc- 
curs when  you  are  not  crossing. 

And  then,  the  wind  is  invariably  against  you. 
When  you  go  to  America,  it  blows  from  the  west ; 
when  you  come  back  to  Europe,  it  blows  from  the  east. 
If  the  captain  steers  south  to  avoid  icebergs,  it  is  sure 
to  begin  to  blow  southerly. 

Doctors  say  that  sea-sickness  emanates  from  the  brain. 
I  can  quite  believe  them.  The  blood  rushes  to  your 
head,  leaving  your  extremities  cold  and  helpless.  All 
the  vital  force  flies  to  the  brain,  and  your  legs  refuse 
to  carry  you.  It  is  with  sea-sickness  as  it  is  with  wine. 
When  people  say  that  a  certain  wine  goes  up  in  the 
head,  it  means  that  it  is  more  likely  to  go  down  to  the 
feet. 

There  you  are,  on  board  a  huge  construction  that 
rears  and  kicks  like  a  buck-jumper.  She  lifts  you  up 
bodily,  and,  after  well  shaking  all  your  members  in  the 
air  several  seconds,  lets  them  down  higgledy-piggledy, 
leaving  to  Providence  the  business  of  picking  them  up 
and  putting  them  together  again.    That  is  the  kind  of 


1^' 


YOUR  LEGS  REFUSE  TO  CARRY   YOU. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


m 


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6:     ( 


tiling  one  has  to  go  through  about  sixty  times  an  hour. 
And  there  is  no  hope  for  you  ;  nobody  dies  o{  it. 

Under  such  conditions,  the  mental  state  of  the  board- 
ers may  easily  be  imagined.  They  smoke,  they  play 
cards,  they  pace  the  deck  like  bruin  pacing  a  cage  ;  or 
else  they  read,  and  forget  at  the  second  chapter  all  they 
have  read  in  the  first.  A  few  presumptuous  ones  try 
to  think,  but  without  success.  The  ladies,  the  Ameri- 
can ones  more  especially,  lie  on  their  deck  chairs 
swathed  in  rugs  and  shawls  like  Egyptian  mummies  in 
their  sarcophagi,  and  there  they  pass  from  ten  to 
twelve  hours  a  day  motionless,  hopeless,  helpless, 
speechless.  Some  few  incurables  keep  to  their  cabins 
altogether,  and  only  show  their  wasted  faces  when  it  is 
time  to  debark.  Up  they  come,  with  cross,  stupefied, 
pallid,  yellow-green-looking  physiognomies,  and  seem- 
ing to  say  :  "  Speak  to  me,  if  you  like,  but  don't  ex- 
pect me  to  open  my  eyes  or  answer  you,  and  above  all, 
don't  shake  me." 

Impossible  to  fraternize. 

The  crossing  now  takes  about  six  days  and  a  half. 
By  the  time  you  have  spent  two  in  getting  your  sea 
legs  on,  and  three  more  in  reviewing,  and  being  re- 
viewed by  your  fellow-passengers,  you  will  find  your- 
self at  the  end  of  your  troubles — and  your  voyage. 

No,  people  do  not  fraternize  on  board  ship,  during 
such  a  short  passage,  unless  a  rumor  runs  from  cabin 
to  cabin  that  there  has  been  some  accident  to  the  ma- 
chinery, or  that  the  boat  is  in  imminent  danger.  At  the 
least  scare  of  this  kind,  every  one  looks  at  his  neigh- 
bor with  eyes  that  are  alarmed,  but  amiable,  nay,  even 
amicable.     But  as  soon  as  one  can  say :     "  We  have 


I" 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  5 

come  off  with  a  mere  scare  this  time,"  all  the  facial 
traits  stiffen  once  more,  and  nobody  knows  anybody. 
Universal  grief  only  will  bring  about  universal 
brotherhood.  We  must  wait  till  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment. When  the  world  is  passing  away,  oh !  how 
men    will    forgive    and    love     one    another !      What 


LIKE   EGYPTIAN   MUMMIES." 


outpourings  of  good-will  and  affection  there  will 
be  !  How  touching,  how  edifying  will  be  the  sight ! 
The  universal  republic  will  be  founded  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  distinctions  of  creed  and 
class  forgotten.  The  author  will  embrace  the 
critic   and    even    the    publisher,    the    socialist   open 


A   FAENCHMAA    IN  AMERICA. 


II ' 


i 


his  arms  to  the  capitah'st.  The  married  men  will  be 
seen  "  making  it  up  "  with  their  mothers-in-law^  beg- 
ging them  to  forgive  and  forget,  and  admitting  that 
they  had  not  been  always  quite  so-so,  in  fact,  as  they 
might  have  been.  If  the  Creator  of  all  is  a  philoso- 
pher,  or  enjoys  humor,  how  he  will  be  amused  to 
see  all  the  various  sects  of  Christians,  who  have  passed 
their  lives  in  running  one  another  down,  throw  them- 
selves into  one  another's  arms.  It  will  be  a  scene 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

Yes,  I  repeat  it,  the  voyage  from  Liverpool  to  New 
York  is  monotonous  and  wearisome  in  the  extreme. 
It  is  an  interval  in  one's  existence,  a  week  more  or 
less  lost,  decidedly  more  than  less. 

One  grows  gelatinous  from  head  to  foot,  especially 
in  the  upper  part  of  one's  anatomy. 

In  order  to  see  to  what  an  extent  the  brain  softens, 
you  only  need  look  at  the  pastimes  the  poor  pas- 
sengers go  in  for. 

A  state  of  demoralization  prevails  throughout. 

They  bet.     That  is  the  form  the  disease  takes. 

They  bet  on  anything  and  everything.  They  bet 
that  the  sun  will  or  will  not  appear  next  day  at  eleven 
precisely,  or  that  rain  will  fall  at  noon.  They  bet  that 
the  number  of  miles  made  by  the  boat  at  twelve  o'clock 
next  day  will  terminate  with  o,  1,2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  or 
9.  Each  draws  one  of  these  numbers  and  pays  his 
shilling,  half-crown,  or  even  sovereign.  Then  these 
numbers  are  put  up  at  auction.  An  improvised 
auctioneer,  with  the  gift  of  the  gab,  puts  his  talent  at 
the  service  of  his  fellow-passengers.  It  is  really  very 
funny  to  see  him  swaying  about   the   smoking-room 


A  FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA,  ; 

table,  and  using  all  his  eloquence  over  each  number  in 
turn  for  sale.  A  good  auctioneer  will  run  the  bidding 
so  smartly  that  the  winner  of  the  pool  next  day  often 
pocket.]  as  much  as  thirty  aiid  forty  pounds.     On  the 


THE   AUCTIONEER. 


eve  of  arrival  in  New  York  harbor,  everybody  knows 
that  twei)ty-four  pilots  are  waiting  about  for  the  advent 
of  the  liner,  and  that  each  boat  carries  her  number  on 
her  sail.     Accordingly,  twenty-four  numbers  are  rolled 


8 


A  r/^EA'c/rAfAjv  m  America. 


up  and  thrown  into  a  cap,  and  betting  begins  again. 
He  who  has  drawn  the  number  which  happens  to  be 
that  of  the  pilot  who  takes  the  steamer  into  harbor 
pockets  the  pool. 

I,  who  have  never  bet  on  anything  in  my  life,  even  bet 
with  my  traveling  companion,  when  the  rolling-  of  the 
ship  sends  our  portmanteaus  from  one  side  of  the 
cabin  to  the  other,  that  mine  will  arrive  first.  Intel- 
lectual faculties  on  board  are  reduced  to  this  ebb. 


The  nearest  approach  to  a  gay  note,  in  this  concert 
of  groans  and  grumblings,  is  struck  by  son>e  humorous 
and  good-tempered  American.  He  will  come  and  ask 
you  the  most  impossible  questions  with  an  ease  and 
impudence  perfectly  inimitable.  These  catechisings 
are  all  the  more  droll  because  they  are  done  with  a 
naivete  which  completely  disarms  you.  The  phrase  is 
short,  without  verb,  reduced  to  its  most  concise  ex- 
pression. The  intonation  alone  marks  the  interroga- 
tion.    Here  is  a  specimen. 

We  have  on  board  the  Celtic  an  American  who  is  not 
a  very  shrewd  person,  for  it  has  actually  taken  him 
five  days  to  discover  that  English  is  not  my  native 
tongue.  This  morning  (December  30)  he  found  it  out, 
and,  being  seated  near  me  in  the  smoke-room,  has  just 
had  the  following  bit  of  conversation  with  me: 

**  Foreigner?"  said  he. 

**  Foreigner,"  said  I,  replying  in  American. 

"  German,  I  guess." 

**  Guess  again." 

"French?" 

"  Pure  blood." 


'4;;. 


■■'a 


UOINU   TO   AMERICA?' 


10 


A    IKENCHMAN  IN  AMKtilCA 


I) 

i 


"  Married  ?  " 

•'  Married." 

•' Going  to  America  ?  " 

"  Yes— evidently." 

"Pleasure  trip?" 

"No." 

'•  On  business  ?  " 

"  On  buiiiness,  yes." 

"What's  your  line?" 

"  H'm — French  goods." 

"  All !  what  class  of  goods  ?" 

"  L: article  de  Paris, " 

"The  what?" 

"  The  ar-ti-cle  de  Pa-risr 

"  Oh  !  yes,  the  arnticle  of  Pahrrissr 

"  Exactly  so.     Excuse  my  pronunciation." 

This  floored  him. 

"  Rather  impertinent,  your  smoke-room  neighbor  !  " 
you  will  say. 

Undeceive  yourself  at  once  upon  that  point.  It  is 
not  impertinence,  still  less  an  intention  to  offend  you, 
that  urges  him  to  put  these  incongruous  questions  to 
you.  It  is  the  interest  he  takes  in  you.  The  Ameri- 
can  is  a  good  fellow ;  good  fellowship  is  one  of  his 
chief  characteristic  traits.  Of  that  I  became  perfectly 
convinced  during  my  last  visit  to  the  United  States. 


CHAPTER    II. 
Arrival  of  the  .Pilot-First  Look  at  Ameri. 

CAN   NeWSI'AI'ERS. 


Saturday,  January  ^,  1890. 
\17E  shall  arrive  in  New  York  Harbor  to-night, 
VV  but  too  hite  to  go  on  shore.  After  sunset,' 
the  Custom  House  officers  are  not  to  be  disturbed! 
We  are  about  to  land  in  a  country  where,  as  I  remem- 
ber, everything  is  in  subjection  to  the  paid  servant. 
In  the  United  States,  he  who  is  paid  wages  com- 
mands. 

We  make  the  best  of  it.  After  having  mercilessly 
tumbled  us  about  for  nine  days,  the  wind  has  gra- 
ciously  calmed  down,  and  our  last  day  is  going  to  be 
a  good  one,  thanks  be.  There  is  a  pure  atmosphere. 
A  clear  line  at  the  horizon  divides  space  into  two 
innmensities,  two  sheets  of  blue  sharply  defined. 

Faces  are  smoothing  out  a  bit.  People  talk,  are 
becoming,  in  fact,  quite  communicative.  One  seems 
to  say  to  another:  "Why,  after  all,  you  don't  look 
half  as  disagreeable  as  I  thought.  If  I  had  only 
known  that,  we  might  have  seen  more  of  each  other, 
and  killed  time  more  quickly." 

The  pilot  boat  is  in  sight.  It  comes  toward  us,  and 
sends  ofT  in  a  rowing-boat  the  pilot  who  will  take  us 


II 


12 


A    FKEXCllMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


(      ■:! 


\\       1 


iwto  port.  The  arrival  of  the  pilot  on  board  is  not  an 
incident.  It  is  an  evetit.  Docs  he  not  bring  the 
New  Yor-k  newspapers?  And  when  you  have  been  ten 
days  at  sea,  cut  off  from  th»  world,  to  read  the  papers 
of  the  day  before   is  to  come  back  to   life   again,  and 

once  more  take  up  your 
place  in  this  little  planet  that 
has  been  going  on  its  jog-trot 
way  during  your  temporary 
suppression. 

The     first     article     which 

meets    my   eyes,   as    I    open 

the  New   York   World,  is 

Vy        headed   "  High   time    for 

Mr.  Nash  to  put 
a  stop  to  it!" 
This  is  the  para- 
graph : 

Ten  days  ago, 
Mrs.  Nash  brought 
a  boy  into  exist- 
ence. Three  days 
afterward  she  pre- 
sented her  husband 

with   a  little  girl.     Yesterday  the  lady  was  safely  delivered  of  a 

third  baby. 

'*  Mrs.  Nash  takes  her  time  over  it  "  would  have  been 
another  good  heading. 

Here  we  are  in  America.  Old  World  ways  don't  ob- 
tain here.  In  Europe,  Mrs.  Nash  would  have  ushered 
t4ie  little  trio  into  this  life  in  one  day;  but  in  Europe 
we  are  out  of  date,  rococo,  and  if  one  came  over  to  find 


riLOT   WITH    PAPERS. 


A   FRENCIhMAN  IN   AMERICA.  13 

the  Americans  doing  things  just  as  they  are  done  on  the 
other  side,  one  might  as  well  stay  at  home. 
I  run  through  the  papers. 

America.  I  see,  is  split  into  two  camps.     Two  young 
ad.es    Miss  Nelly  Bly  and    Miss   Elizabeth   Bisland 
have  left  New  York  by  opposite  routes  to  go  around 
the   world,  the   former  sent   by  the  New  York  World 
the   latter  by  the  Cosmopolitan.     Which  will   be  back 
f^rst  ?  ,s  what  all  America  is  conjecturing  upon.     Bets 
have  been  made,  and  the  betting  is  even.     I  do  not 
know  M.ss  Bly,  but  last  time  I  came  over  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  making  Miss  Bisland's  acquaintance.     Nat- 
uraiy,  as  soon  as  I  get   on  shore,  I  shall  bet  on  Miss 
B.sland.     You  would  do  the  same  yourself,  would  you 

I  pass  the  day  reading  the  papers.     All  the  bits  of 

news,  insignificant  or  not,  given  in  the  shape  of  crisp 

hvely  stories,  help  pass  the  time.     They  contain  little 

information,   but    much  amusement.      The  American 

newspaper  always  reminds  me  of  a  shop  window  with 

all  the  goods  ticketed  in  a  marvelous  style,  so  as  to  at- 

tract  and  tickle  the  eye.     You  cannot  pass  over  any- 

mng.     The  leading  article  is  scarcely  known  across 

the     wet  spot    ;  the  paper  is  a  collection  of  bits  of 

gossip,  hearsay,  news,  scandal,  the  whole  served  h  la 

sauce  piquante. 

,,,  .  ^ine  o  clock. 

We  are  passing  the  bar,  and  going  to  anchor.  New 
York  ,s  sparkling  with  lights,  and  the  Brooklyn  Bridge 
IS  a  thing  of  beauty.  I  will  enjoy  the  scene  for  an 
hour,  and  then  turn  in. 

We  land  to-morrow  morning  at  seven. 


CHAPTER  III. 


9i 


»i   I  : 


Arrival — The  Custom  House  —  Things  Look 
Bad  —  The  Interviewers  —  First  Visits  — 
Things  Look  Brighter — "O  Vanity  of  Vani- 
ties." 


Ne^u  York  Harbor,  January  5. 

AT  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  Custom  House 
officers  came  on  board.  One  of  them  at  once 
recognizing  me,  said,  calling  me  by  name,  that  he  was 
glad  to  see  me  back,  and  inquired  if  I  had  not  brought 
Madame  with  me  this  time.  It  is  extraordinary  the 
memory  of  many  of  these  Americans  !  This  one  had 
seen  me  for  a  few  minutes  two  years  before,  and  proba- 
bly had  had  to  deal  with  two  or  three  hundred  thousand 
people  since. 

All  the  passengers  came  to  the  saloon  and  made 
their  declarations  one  after  another,  after  which  they 
swore  in  the  usual  form  that  they  had  told  the  truth, 
and  signed  a  paper  to  that  effect.  This  done,  many  a 
poor  pilgrim  innocently  imagines  that  he  has  finished 
with  the  Custom  House,  and  he  renders  thanks  to 
Heaven  that  he  is  going  to  set  foot  on  a  soil  where  a 
man's  word  is  not  doubted.  He  reckons  without  his 
host.  In  spite  of  his  declaration,  sworn  and  signed, 
his  trunks  are  opened  and  searched  with  all  the 
dogged  zeal  of  a  policeman  who  believes  he  is  on  the 

«4 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


IS 


track  of  a  criminal,  and  who  will  only  give  up  after 
perfectly  convincing  himself  that  the  trunks  do  not 
contan,  the  slightest  dutiable  article.     Everything  is 


CUSTOM   HOUSE  OFFICERS 


taken  out  and  examined.  If  there  are  any  objects  of 
apparel  that  appear  like  new  ones  to  that  scrutinizing 
eye,  look  out  for  squalls. 

I  must  say  that  the  officer  was  very  kind  to  me. 


i6 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


'!'  'I 


i 


For  tliat  matter,  the  luggage  of  a  man  who  travels 
alone,  without  Madame  and  her  impedimenta,  is  soon 
examined. 

Before  leaving  the  ship,  I  went  to  shake  hands  with 
Captain  Parsell,  that  experienced  sailor  whose  bright, 
interesting  conversation,  added  to  the  tempting  delica- 
cies provided  by  the  cook,  made  many  an  hour  pass 
right  cheerily  for  those  who,  like  myself,  had  the 
good  fortune  to  sit  at  his  table.  I  thanked  him  for  all 
the  kind  attentions  I  had  received  at  his  hands.  I 
should  have  liked  to  thank  all  the  employees  of  the 
"White  Star"  line  company.  Their  politeness  is 
above  all  praise;  their  patience  perfectly  angelical. 
Ask  them  twenty  times  a  day  the  most  absurd  ques- 
tions, such  as,  "  Will  the  sea  soon  calm  down?  "  "  Shall 
we  get  into  harbor  on  Wednesday?  "  "  Do  you  think 
we  shall  be  in  early  enough  to  land  in  the  evening?" 
and  so  on.  You  find  them  always  ready  with  a  kind 
and  encouraging  answer.  "  The  barometer  is  going  up 
and  the  sea  is  going  down,"  or,  "  We  are  now  doing  our 
nineteen  knots  an  hour."  Is  it  true,  or  not?  It  sat- 
isfies you,  at  all  events.  In  certain  cases  it  is  so 
sweet  to  be  deceived  !  Better  to  be  left  to  nurse  a  be- 
loved illusion  than  have  to  give  it  up  for  a  harsh  re- 
ality that  you  are  powerless  against.  Every  one  is 
grateful  to  those  kind  sailors  and  stewards  for  the 
little  innocent  fibs  that  they  are  willing  to  load  their 
consciences  with,  in  order  that  they  may  brighten  your 
path  across  the  ocean  a  little. 


■X  .       <. 

i! 

fl 

Everett  House.     Noon. 
My  baggage  examined,  I  took  a  cab  to  go  to  the 


■*■%' .  -^  J 


•    \  -', 


/5?i  ''\i^ 


^,^««^-^ 


>Bt^ 


lAPIAIN    I'AKSKLL,    R      M.    s.     "  .\I  AJ  KSTIc' 


h   'f- 


I 


ttf    'I 


I 


:H 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA 


17 


hotel.     Three  dollars  for  a  mile  and  a  half.     A  mere 
trifle. 

It  was  pouring  with  rain.  New  York  on  a  Sunday 
IS  never  very  gay.  To-day  the  city  seemed  to  me  hor- 
rible: dull,  dirty,  and  dreary.  It  is  not  the  fault  of 
New  York  altogether.     I  have  the  spleen.     A  horribly 


EVERY   ONE   HAS  THE   GRIPPE. 

Stormy  passage,  the  stomach  upside  down,  the  heart  up 
«n  the  throat,  the  thought  that  my  dear  ones  are  three 
thousand  miles  away,  all  these  things  help  to  make 
everything  look  black.  It  would  have  needed  a 
radiant  sun  in  one  of  those  pure  blue  skies  that  North 
America  is  so  rich  in  to  make  life  look  agreeable  and 
New  York  passable  to-day. 

In  ten   minutes  cabby  set  me  down  at  the   Everett 


i8 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


House.  After  having  signed  the  register,  I  went  and 
looked  up  my  manager,  whose  bureau  is  on  the  ground 
floor  of  the  hotel. 

The  spectacle  which  awaited  me  was  appalling. 

There  sat  the  unhappy  Major  Pond  in  his  office,  his 
head  bowed  upon  his  chest,  his  arms  hanging  limp,  the 
very  picture  of  despair. 

The  country  is  seized  with  a  panic.  Everybody  has 
the  influenza.  Every  one  does  not  die  of  it,  but  every 
one  is  having  it.  The  malady  is  not  called  influenza 
over  here,  as  it  is  in  Europe.  It  is  called  "  Grippe." 
No  American  escapes  it.  Some  have  la  grippe,  others 
have  the  grippe,  a  few,  even,  have  the  la  grippe.^  Others, 
again,  the  lucky  ones,  think  they  have  it.  Those  who 
have  not  had  it,  or  do  not  think  they  have  it  yet, 
arc  expecting  it.  The  nation  is  in  a  complete  state  of 
demoralization.  Theaters  are  empty,  business  almost 
suspended,  doctors  on  their  backs  or  run  off  their 
legs. 

At  twelve  a  telegram  is  handed  to  me.  It  is  from 
my  friend,  Wilson  Barrett,  who  is  playing  in  Philadel- 
phia. "  Hearty  greetings,  dear  friend.  Five  grains  of 
quinine  and  two  tablets  of  antipyrine  a  day,  or  you 
gGt  grippe ."  Then  came  many  letters  by  every  post. 
"  Impossible  to  go  and  welcome  you  in  person.  I 
have  la  grippe.  Take  every  precaution."  Such  is  the 
tenor  of  them  all. 

The  outlook  is  not  bright.  What  to  do  ?  ¥ot  a 
moment  I  have  half  a  mind  to  call  a  cab  and  get 
on  board  the  first  boat  bound  for  Europe. 

I  go  to  my  room,  the  windows  of  which  overlook 
Union  Square.     The  sky  is  somber,  the  street  is  black 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  19 

and  deserted,  the  air  is  suffocatingly  warm,  and  a  very 
heavy  rain  is  beating  against  the  windows. 

Shade  of  Columbus,  how  I  wish  I  were  home 
again ! 

• 

Cheer  up,  boy,  the  hand-grasps  of  vour  dear  New 
York  friends  will  be  sweet  after  the  frantic  grasping 
of  stair-rails  and  other  ship  furniture  for  so  many 
days. 

I  will  have  lunch  and  go  and  pay  calls. 

• 
Excuse  me  if  I  leave  you  for  a  few  minutes.  The 
interviewers  are  waiting  for  me  downstairs  in  Major 
Pond's  office. '  The  interviewers!  a  gay  note  at  last. 
The  hall  porter  hands  me  their  cards.  They  are  all 
there  :  representatives  of  the  Tribune,  the  Times,  the 
Sun,  the  Herald,  the  World,  the  Star. 

What  nonsense  Europeans  have  written  on  the 
subject  of  interviewing  in  America,  to  be  sure!  To 
hear  them  speak,  you  would  believe  that  it  is  the 
greatest  nuisance  in  the  world. 

A  Frenchman  writes  in  the  Figaro:  "  I  will  go  to 
America  if  my  life  can  be  insured  against  that  terrific 
nuisance,  interviewing." 

An  Englishman  writes  to  an  English  paper,  on 
returning  from  America  :  "  When  the  reporters  called 
on  me,  I  invariably  refused  to  see  them." 

Trash!  Cant!  Hypocrisy!  With  the  exception 
of  a  king,  or  the  prime  minister  of  one  of  the  great 
powers,  a  man  is  only  too  glad  to  be  interviewed. 
Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  nuisance,  tell  the  truth, 
it   is  always  such  a  treat  to  hear  it.     I  consider  that 


jl' 


ao 


A    FRENCIIMAI^  IN  AMERICA. 


w 


^ 


j: 


' 


i    ! 


interviewing  is  a  compliment,  a  great  compliment  paid 
to  the  interviewed.  In  asking  a  man  to  gjive  you  his 
views,  so  as  to  enlighten  the  public  on  such  and  such 
a  subject,  you  acknowledge  that  he  is  an  important 
man,  which  is  flattering  to  him  ;  or  you  take  him  for 
one,  which  is  more  flattering  still. 

I  maintain  that  American  interviewers  are  extremely 
courteous  and  obliging,  and,  as  a  rule,  very  faithful 
reporters  of  what  you  say  to  them. 

Let  me  say  that  I  have  a  lurking  doubt  in  my  mind 
whether  those  who  have  so  much  to  say  against  inter- 
viewing in  America  have  ever  been  asked  to  be  inter- 
viewed at  all,  or  have  even  ever  run  such  a  danger. 

I  object  to  interviewing  as  a  sign  of  decadence  in 
modern,  journalism ;  but  I  do  not  object  to  being 
interviewed,  I  like  it ;  and,  to  prove  it,  I  will  go  down 
at  once,  and  be  interviewed. 

•     .  *  *  •  • 

Midnight. 
The  interview  with  the  New  York  reporters  passed 

off  very  well.  I  went  through  the  operation  like  a 
man. 

After  lunch,  I  went  to  see  Mr.  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman,  who  had  shown  me  a  great  deal  of  kindness 
during  my  first  visit  to  America.  I  found  in  him  a 
friend  ready  to  welcome  me. 

The  poet  and  literary  critic  is  a  man  of  about  fifty, 
rather  below  middle  height,  with  a  beautifully  chiseled 
head.  In  every  one  of  the  features  you  can  detect 
the  artist,  the  man  of  delicate,  tender,  and  refined 
feelings.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  for  me  to  see  him 
again.     He   has   finished    his  "  Library  of   American 


A  FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


ai 


L  erature,  a  g,ga„tic  work  of  erudite  criticism  and 
jud.cous  compilation,  wind,  he  undertook  a  few  year, 
ago  ,n  collaboration  with  Miss  Ellen  Mackay  Hutchin- 
son.     I  hese  eleven  volumes  form  a  perfect  national 


THE   INTERVIEWERS. 

monument,  a  complete  cyclopedia  of  American  liter- 
ature.    g,v,„g   extracts   from   the    writings    of   every 
American   who   has   published  anything   for  the  last 
three  hundred  years  (1607-1890) 
On  leaving  him,  I  went  to  call  on  Mrs.  Anna  Bow- 


2a 


J  /■  A'/:. V (•//.]/. I. V  /x   /j//:a7C./. 


ii  I 


mail  Dodil,  the  autlior  of  "  CatliLtlral  D.iys,"  "  Glo- 
riiula,"  '*  TIjc  Republic  of  tlic  I''iiturc,"  and  other 
cliarmiiif;  books,  and  one  of  the  brightest  convcrsation- 
ah'sts  it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet. 
After  an  hour's  cliat  witli  her,  I  had  forj^ottcn  all 
about  the  grippe^  and  all  other  more  or  less  imag- 
inary miseries. 

I  returned  to  the  Everett  House  to  dress,  and  went 
to  the  Union  League  Club  to  dine  with  General  Horace 
Torter. 

The  general  possesses  a  rare  and  most  happy  combi- 
nation of  brilliant  flashing  Parisian  wit  and  dry,  quiet, 
American  humor.  This  charming  causcur  and  con- 
tcur  tells  an  anecdote  as  nobody  I  know  can  do ;  he 
never  misses  fire.  He  assured  me  at  table  that  the 
copyright  bill  will  soon  be  passed,  for,  he  added,  "we 
have  now  a  pure  and  pious  Administration.  At  the 
White  House  they  open  their  oysters  with  prayer." 
The  conversation  fell  on  American  society,  or,  rather, 
on  American  Societies.  The  highest  and  lowest  of 
these  can  be  distinguished  by  the  use  of  ran.  "The 
blue  blood  of  America  put  it  before  their  names,  as 
Van  Nickcn ;  political  society  puts  it  after,  as  Sulli- 
van y 

0  Van-  TAS  Van-itatum! 

Time  passed  rapidly  in  such  delightful  company. 

1  finished  the  evening  at  the  house  of  Colonel 
Robert  G.  Ingersoll.  If  there  had  been  any  cloud  of 
gloom  still  left  hanging  about  me,  it  would  have  van- 
ished at  the  sight  of  his  sunny  face.  There  was  a 
small  gathering  of  some  thirty  people,  among  them 
Mr.  Edgar  Fawcett,  whose  acquaintance  I  was  delighted 


"I' 

-I 

V 

f 

f 


i; 


to  make.     Conversation  went  on  briskly  with  one  an,l 
I.     other,  and  at  half.past  eleven  I  returned  to  the 
hotel  completely  cured. 

IVmorrovv  morning  I  leave  for  Boston  at  ton  o'clock 
to  bcKm  the  lecture  tour  in  that  city,  or,  to  use  an 
Americanism,  to  "open  the  sho,v." 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 

It  is  the  hall  porter  with  a  letter:  an  invitation  to 


HALL   PORTER. 

pitt;::r/o'„n;.'  ^"^^^^-^"'^  -^  «"^ '  -  - 


mmmm 


24 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


I  take  a  telegraph  form  and  pen  the  following,  which 
I  will  send  to  my  friend,  Major  M.  P.  Handy,  the 
president  of  this  lively  association  : 

Many  thanks.  Am  engaged  in  Pittsburg  on  the  16th.  Thank 
GotI,  cannot  attend  your  dinner. 

I  remember  how  those  "  boys  "  cheeked  me  two 
years  ago,  laughed  at  me,  .sat  on  me.  That's  my  tele- 
gram to  you,  dear  Cloverites,  with  my  love. 


S 
J 


I  \ 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Impressions  of  American  Hotels. 

A  ID  r.  T ,  r  r.  .^  Boston,  yanuary  6. 

^RRIVED   here   this   afternoon,   and    resumed  ac- 
^  ^  quaintance  with  American  hotels. 

American  hotels  are  all  alike. 

Some  are  worse. 

Describe  one  and  you  have  described  ti.em  all 

On  the  ground  floor,  a  large  entrance  hall  strewed 
wth  cuspulores  for  the  men,  and  a  side  entrance  pro 
v,ded  w,.h  a  triumphal  arch  for  the  ladies.     O^  Zs 
floor  the  sexes  are  separated  as  at  the  public  baths 

clerks  whlTh        •  '  r"'""  '^'""^  "'-"^  -'^-n 
Clerks,  whose  busmess  faces  relax  not  a  muscle    are 

ready  w,th  their  book  to  enter  your  name  Id  a^sl 

you  a  number.    A  small  army  o<  colored  po  ters  r"'; 

to  take  you  m  charge.     Not  a  salute,  not  a  word   „o^ 

:2::'zT:-  "■'" --'''' *^'-^ ^'-^ ^^^"-^ 

makes  a  sign  that  your  case  is  settled.  You  follou- 
h.m.  For  the  time  being  you  lose  your  personi  Uv 
and  become  No.  375,  as  you  would  ^n  jail.  Don't  a2 
,tJf ;  "'^ -'  ">  — r;  don't  ring  the  be  ,0 

e  rrL:  ofr; "'  ':zr  ^"^  ^^"-^ "-  ^°-  *--  a" 

n  vour  heH  "'^'^''»'""«"'  «••«  printed  and  posted 
•n  your  bedroom  ;  you  have  to  submit  to  them  No 
quesfon  to  ask-you  know  everything.     HenTefo^h 

95 


26 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


I),'     J    ' 


ill 


you  will  have  to  be  hungry  from  7  to  9  A.M. ;   from  i 
to  3  P.M. ;  from  6  to  8  P.M.    The  slightest  infringement 


/"''^f 


THE   SAD  EYED   CLERK. 


of  the  routine  would  stop  the  wheel,  so  don't  ask  if  you 
could  have  a  meal  at  four  o'clock  ;  you  would  be  taken 
for  a  lunatic,  or  a  crank  (as  they  call  it  in  Amierica). 


A   FRE.XCHMAN  nv  AMERICA.  27 

No    privacy.      No    coffee-room,  no    smoking-room 
Noplace  where  you  can  go  and  quietly  sip  a  cup  of 
coffee  or  dr  „lc  a  glass  of  beer  vvitl,  a  cig^.r,  '  You  .a" 

ave  a  dr,nk  at  the  bar,  and  then  go  and  sit  do.vn 
the  hall  among  the  crowd. 

Life  in  an  American  hotel  is  an  alternation  of  the 
cellular  system  during  the  night  and  of  the  gregarious 
system  dur,ng  the  day,  an  alternation  of  the  peni ten 
farysystems  carried  out  at  Philadelphia  and  at  Xubur  . 
It  IS  not  ,n  the  bedroom,  either,  that  you  must  seel- 
anytiEng  to  cheer  VON      Tl„  h.  i  •  -i"    ' '"use  seek 

tl,„  „•  h      -r        ^  °^'^  '■'  Sood,  but  only  for 

he  n,,ht.      The  room  is  perfectly  nude.     Not  even 
Napoleon  s    Farewell    to    his  Soldiers   at    Fontaine. 

Scaffold     as  ,n  England.     Not  that  these  picrnres  a  e 
art.cu larly  cheerful,  still  they  break  the  monotony "f 

the  wall  paper.     Here  the  only  o.ases  in  the  brown  o 

gray  desert  are  cautions.  ' 

First  of  all,  a  notice  that,  in  a  cupboard  near  the 

wnulow,  you  will  find  some  twenty  yards  of  coiled  rope 

'win'!'  ""-r    ""'  ^"'  ^^^  '"  fi'^  "-''-'<  outside 
hewuKlow.      The  rest  is  guessed.     You  fi..  the  rope 

eighth  story,  the  prospect  is  lively.     Another  caution 
...forms  you  of  all  that  you  must  not  do,  such  a    your 
own  washn,g  n,  the  bedroom.     Another  warns you^ha 
.f,  c,  re  ,nng.  you  put  your  boots  outside  the  door,  you 

near  the  joor,  close  to  an  electric  bell.     With  a  little 
ca.e  and   practice,  you  will  be  able  to  carry  out       e 


mstm 


I  U' 


I 


i: 


THE  HOTEL  FIRE  ESCAPE. 


^   FKEffCllMAU  hV  AMEKICA.  2, 

instructions  printed  thereon.  The  only  thing  wonder- 
ful  about  the  contrivance  is  that  the  servants  never 
make  mistakes. 


Press  once 
twice 


three  times 
four 

five  " 
six  " 
seven  " 
eight 


for  ice-water, 
hall  boy. 
fireman, 
chambermaid, 
hot  water. 

mk  and  writing  materials. 

baggage. 

messenger. 


Another  notice  tells  you  what  the  proprietor's  re- 
^o,.s,b,ht,es  are    and  at  what  time  the  meals   take 

all.     Woe  to  you  >f  you  forget  it !     For  if  you  should 

s  closed,  no  human  consideration  would  get  it  open 

IZr";,   Supplications,  arguments   would    be   of  no 
avail.     Not  even  money. 

"What   do  you   mean.?"  some   old-fashioned    Eu- 
ropean  w.ll  exclaim.     "  When  the  rail.  d'Me  is  over 
of  course  you  cannot  expect  the  „,.„„  to  be  served  to 
you  ,  but  surely  you  can  order  a  steak  or  a  chop  " 

No  you  cannot,  not  even  an  omelette  or  a  piece  of 
cold  meat.  If  you  arrive  at  one  minute  past  three  (in 
small  towns,  at  one  minute  past  t.vo)  you  find  the 
dmmg.room  clo.,ed,  and  you  must  wait  till  six  o'clock 
to  see  Its  hospitable  doors  open  again. 

When  you  enter  the  dining-room,  "you  musi  not  be- 


30 


A   FREXCIIMAN  I,V  AMERICA. 


\^ 


:|| 

\\ 

i 

1 

il 


-i  i 


Pl! 


lieve  that  you  can  go  and  sit  where  you  like.     The  chief 
waiter  assigns  you  a  seat,  and  you  must  take  it.     With 
a  superb  wave  of  the  hand,  he  signs  to  you  to  follow 
hinn.     He  does  not  even  turn  round  to  see  if  you  are 
behind  him,  following  him  in  all  the  meanders  he  de- 
scribes, amid    the  sixty,   eighty,    sometimes  hundred 
tables  that  are  in  the  room.     He  takes  it  for  granted 
you   are  an  obedient,  submissive  traveler  who  knows 
his  duty.     Altogether  I  traveled  in  the  United  States 
for   about    ten   months,  and  I   never  came  across  an 
American   so  daring,    so  independent,   as    to  actually 
take   any  other  seat  than  the  one  assigned  to  him  by 
that    tremendous   potentate,   the  head  waiter.     Occa- 
sionally, just  to  try  him,  I  would  sit  down  in  a  chair  I 
took  a  fancy  to.     But  he  would  come  and  fetch  me, 
and  tell  me  that   I  could  not  stay  there.     In  Europe, 
the  waiter  asks  you  where  you  would  like  to  sit.     In 
America,  you  ask  him  where  you  may  sit.     He  is  a 
paid  servant,  therefore  a  master  in  America.     He  is  in 
command,  not  of  the  other  waiters,  but  of  the  guests. 
Several  times,  recognizing  friends  in  the  dining-room, 
I  asked  the  man  to  take  me  to  their  tables  (I  should 
not  have  dared  go  by  myself),  and  the  permission  was 
granted  with  a  patronizing  sign  of  the  head.     I  have 
constantly  seen  Americans   stop  on  the   threshold   of 
the  dining-room  door,  and  wait  until  the  chief  waiter 
had  returned  from  placing  a  guest  to  come  and  fetch 
them  in  their  turn.     I  never  saw  them  venture  alone, 
and  take  an  empty  seat,  without  the  sanction  of  the 
waiter. 

The  guests  feel  struck  with  awe  in  that  dining-room, 
and  solemnly  bolt  their  food  as  quickly  as  they  can. 


I 


TFiE   HEAD   MAN. 


■nam 


r 

iS 

!■ 

32 


/^   FRENCHMAN  IM  AMERICA. 


Ml       'M       I 


^1 


in 


W  J 


fflif 


You  hear  less  noise  in  an  American  hotel  dining-room 
containing  five  hundred  people,  than  you  do  at  a 
French  tabic  d hdte  accommodating  fifty  people,  at  a 
German  one  containing  a  dozen  guests,  or  at  a  table 

where  two  Italians 
are  dining  Ute-a-tete. 
The  head  waiter, 
at  large  Northern 
and  Western  hotels, 
is  a  white  man.  In 
the  Southern  ones, 
he  is  a  mulatto  or  a 
black  ;  but  white  or 
black,  he  is  always  a 
magnificent  speci- 
men of  his  race. 
There  is  not  a  ghost 
of  a  savor  of  the 
serving  man  about 
him  ;  no  whiskers 
and  shaven  upper 
lips  reminding  you 
of  the  waiters  of  the 
Old  World;  but  al- 
ways a  fine  mustache, 
the  twirling  of  which 
helps  to  give  an  air 
of  nonchalant  superiority  to  its  wearer.  The  mulatto 
head-waiters  in  the  South  really  look  like  dusky 
princes.  Many  of  them  arc  so  handsome  and  carry 
themselves  so  superbly  that  you  find  them  very  im- 
pressive at  first  and   would   fain   apologize  to  them. 


LOOK   LIKE   DUSKV   PRINCES. 


i 


M\ 


A    FRENCHMAN^  IN  AMEIUCA. 


ZZ 


You  feel  as  if  you  wanted 
to  thank  them  for  kindly- 
condescending  to  concern 
themselves  about  anything 
so  commonplace  as  your  seat 
at  table. 

In    smaller     hotels,     the 
waiters    are    all    waitresses. 
The    "waiting"    is 
done  by  dam- 


sels  entirely  — 
or  rather  by  the 
guests  of  the 
hotel. 

If  the  South- 
ern  head  waiter 
looks  like  a 
prince,  what 
shall  we  say  of 
the  head  -  wait- 
ress in  the  East, 
the  North,  and 
the  West? 
No  term  short 
of  queenly  will 
describe  her 
stately  bearing 
as  she  moves  about  among  her  bevy  of  r-duced 
duchesses.  She  is  evidently  chosen  for  her  appear- 
ance.     She    is    "divinely  tall,"  as  well  as    "most 


^ 


"SHE   IS  CROWNED   WITH   A   GIGANTIC   MASS 
OF  FRIZZLED   HAIR." 


34 


A   J'/^ENCIIA/AN  IN  AMERICA. 


II     I 


1> 


divinely  fair,"  and,  as  if  to  add  to  her  import- 
ance, she  is  crowned  with  a  gigantic  mass  of  frizzled 
hair.  All  the  waitresses  liave  this  coiffure.  It  is 
a  livery,  as  caps  arc  in  the  Old  World  ;  but  instead 
of  being  a  badge  of  servitude  it  looks,  and  is,  alarm- 
ingly emancipated — so  much  so  that,  before  making 
close  acquaintance  with  my  dishes,  I  always  examine 
them  with  great  care.  A  beautiful  mass  of  hair  looks 
lovely  on  the  head  of  a  woman,  but  one  in  your  soup, 
even  if  it  had  strayed  from  the  tresses  of  your  beloved 
one,  would  make  the  corners  of  your  mouth  go  down, 
and  the  tip  of  your  nose  go  up. 

A  regally  handsome  woman  always  "  goes  well  in 
the  landscape,"  as  the  French  say,  and  I  have  seen 
specimens  of  these  waitresses  so  handsome  and  so 
commanding-looking  that,  if  they  cared  to  come  over 
to  Europe  and  play  the  queens  in  London  pantomimes, 
I  feel  sure  they  would  command  quite  exceptional 
prices,  and  draw  big  salaries  and  crowded  houses. 


I 


Ww 


The  thing  which  strikes  me  most  disagreeably,  in  the 
American  hotel  dining-room,  is  the  sight  of  the  tre- 
mendous waste  of  food  that  goes  on  at  every  meal. 
No  European,  I  suppose,  can  fail  to  be  struck  with 
this  ;  but  to  a  Frenchman  it  would  naturally  be  most 
remarkable.  In  France,  where,  I  venture  to  say, 
people  live  as  well  as  anywhere  else,  if  not  better, 
there  is  a  horror  of  anything  like  waste  of  good  food. 
It  is  to  me,  therefore,  a  repulsive  thing  to  see  the 
wanton  manner  in  which  some  Americans  will  waste 
at  one  meal  enough  to  feed  several  hungry  fellow- 
creatures. 


yt    /•7v7;.\'(7/J/./A'  /.V  AM/.KlC.t. 


35 


III  the  large  hotels,  coiuluctccl  on  the  Aniericaii 
plan,  there  are  rarely  fewer  than  fifty  different  dishes 
on  the  menu  at  dinner-time.  Every  day,  and  at  every 
meal,  you  may  see  people  order  three  times  as  much 
of  this  food  as  they  could  under  any  circumstances  eat, 
and,  after  picking  it  and  spoiling  one  dish  after  another, 
send  the  bulk  away  uneaten.  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
this  practice  is  not  only  to  be  observed  in  hotels  where 
the  charge  is  so  much  per  day,  but  in  those  conducted 
on  the  European  plan,  that  is,  where  you  pay  for  every 
item  you  order.  There  I  notice  that  people  proceed 
in  much  the  same  wasteful  fashion.  It  is  evidently 
not  a  desire  to  have  more  than  is  paid  for,  but  simply 
a  bad  and  ugly  habit.  I  hold  that  about  five  hundred 
hungry  people  could  be  fed  out  of  the  waste  that  is 
going  on  at  such  large  hotels  as  the  Palmer  House  or 
the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel  of  Chicago — and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  such  five  hundred  hungry  people  could 
easily  be  found  in  Chicago  every  day. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  think  that  many  Europeans  arc  prevented  from 
going  to  America  by  an  idea  that  the  expense  of 
traveling  and  living  there  is  very  great.  This  is 
quite  a  delusion.  P'or  my  part  I  find  that  hotels  are 
as  cheap  in  America  as  in  England  at  any  rate,  and 
railway  traveling  in  Pullman  cars  is  certainly  cheaper 
than  in  European  first-class  carriages,  and  incompa- 
rably more  comfortable.  Put  aside  in  America  such 
hotels  as  Delmonico's,  the  Brunswick  in  New  York  ; 
the  Richelieu  in  Chicago  ;  and  in  England  such  hotels 
as  the  Metropole,  the  Victoria,  the  Savoy ;  and  take 
the  good  hotels  of  the  country,  such   as  the  Grand 


1 


\< 


$ 


n 


li^ 


m 


3« 


A   JKEXC/LMAA'  /X  AMKKICA. 


Pacific  at  Chicago ;  the  West  House  at  Minneapolis, 
the  Windsor  at  Montreal,  the  Cadillac  at  Detroit.  I 
only  mention  those  1  remember  as  the  very  best.  In 
these  hotels,  you  are  comfortably  lodged  and  magnifi- 
cently fed  for  from  three  to  five  dollars  a  day.  In 
no  good  hotel  of  England,  France,  Germany,  Italy, 
Switzerland,  would  you  get  the  same  amount  of  com- 
fort, or  even  luxury,  at  the  same  price,  and  those  who 
require  a  sitting-room  get  it  for  a  little  less  than  they 
would  have  to  pay  in  a  European  liotel. 

The  only  very  dear  hotels  I  have  come  across  in  the 
United  States  are  those  of  Virginia.  There  I  have 
been  charged  as  much  as  two  dollars  a  day,  but  never 
in  my  life  did  I  pay  so  dear  for  what  I  had,  never 
in  my  life  did  I  see  so  many  dirty  rooms  or  so  many 
messes  that  were  unfit  for  human  food. 

But  I  will  just  say  this  much  for  the  A.merican  re- 
finement of  feeling  to  be  met  with,  eve  ^  the  hotels 
of  Virginia,  even  in  the  "lunch"  roon.^  m  small  sta- 
tions, you  are  supplied,  at  the  end  of  each  meal,  with  a 
bowl  of  water — to  rinse  your  mouth. 


J 


CHAPTER  V. 


My  Opening  Lkcturk— Ricflections  on  Audi- 
ences I  Have  Had— The  Man  who  Won't 
Smile— The  One  who  Laughs  too  Soon,  and 
Many  Others. 


Boston,  January  7. 

BEGAN  my  second  American  tour  under  most  favor- 
able auspices  last  night,  in  the  Tremont  Temple. 
The  liu^c  liall  was  crowded  with  an  audience  of  about 
2500  peo]  10 — a  most  kind,  warm,  keen,  and  appreciative 
audience.  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  Bostonians  ;  I  had 
heard  so  much  about  their  power  of  criticism  that  I  had 
almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  next  to  im- 
possible to  please  them.  The  Boston  newspapers  this 
morning  give  full  reports  of  my  lecture.  All  of  them  are 
kind  and  most  favorable.  This  is  a  good  start,  and  I 
feel  hopeful. 

The  subject  of  my  lecture  was  "  A  National  Portrait 
Gallery  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Races,"  in  which  I  delin- 
eated the  English,  the  Scotch,  and  the  American  char- 
acters. Strange  to  say,  my  Scotch  sketches  seemed  to 
tickle  them  most.  This,  however,  I  can  explain  to 
myself.  Scotch  "  wut"  is  more  like  American  hu- 
mor than  any  kind  of  wit  I  know.  There  is  about  it 
the  same  dryness,  the  same  quaintness,  the  same  pre- 
posterousness,  the  same  subtlety. 


37 


33 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


If 


' '      .e|  t 


My  Boston  audience  also  seemed  to  enjoy  my  criti- 
cisms of  America  and  the  Americans,  wliicli  disposes 
of  the  absurd  belief  that  the  Americans  will  not  listen  to 
the  criticism  of  their  country.     There  are  Americans 

and   Americans,  as    there 
:ism  and  criticism, 
can     speak     of 
virtues    without 
if  you  can  speak 
their    weaknesses 
failings    w  i  t  h 
ness    and    good 
..    humor,    I    be- 
'I,    lieve  you   can 
criticise  to 
your  heart's 
content    with- 
out ever  fear- 
ing to  give  of- 
fense to  intelli- 
gent and  fair- 
minded      peo- 

iwifi^'»^«^^(^'       ^_„^£=:^  plc-     I  admire 

Y^     M  ^^fcfc>*»i^^^^*g:-^=g^'^^  and    love    the 

Americans. 
How  could 
they  help  see- 
ing it  through  all  the  little  criticisms  that  1  indulged 
in  on  the  platform  ?  On  the  whole,  I  was  delighted 
with  my  Boston  audience,  and,  to  judge  from  the 
reception  they  gave  me,  I  believe  I  succeeded  in 
pleasing    them.     I    have  three*  more  engagements  in 


BOSTON. 


iiil 


39 


A   FREXCHMAX  LV  AMERICA. 

Boston,  so  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  nieeting  the 
Wostonians  again.  '^ 


I  have  never  been  able  to  lectnre,  whether  in  En. 
and.  „,  Scotland  i„  Ireland  or  in  America  '"ho^tdif 
covenng,  somewhere  in  the  hall,  after  spe kinjo  five' 
rn.nutes  or  so,  an  old  gentleman  who  ,vili  ,ot  smile 
He  was  there  last  night,  and  it  is  evident  tint  e  k 
ffo.ng  to  favor  me  with  his  presence  ev  "  „  g,  'Zul 
^ng  tins  second  American  tour.     He  generally!     nea,: 

Thef  i    aTcirn-'bl'T  ""'^^"""^""^  °"   "-  first  ro 
llieie  ,s  a  ho.nble  fascination  about  that  man.     You 

"  f  ;'ci  c '"']  ?."""•  ^'-'  <^"  >"»"•  "<'"osl : 

1-       1  -^  "^  ^'^  °^  your  duty  not  to  senH 

■m  home  empty-headed;  your  conscience  te  Is  y"u 
that  he  has  not  to  please  you,  but  that  j..„  are  paid^o 
please  h,m  and  you  struggle  on.  You  would  l*e  to 
shp  .nto  IMS  pocket  the  price  of  his  seat  and  have  him 
removed,  or  throw  the  water  bottle  at  his  face  ad 
make  h.m  show  signs  of  life.  As  it  is,  you  try  to  look 
the  other  way,  bu'  you  know  he  is  the  e  a  d  thit  loe 
not  improve  matters.  '  "' ''°" 

Now  this  man,  w-l,o  will  not  smile,  very  often  is  not 

?^^^:r;^-d:°r^":-Hvt 

;.;-elf  and  no  cowSste;^;;^  k  ^ to^'lar 
.rumTr- f  ;e,atr  r:t    a'ft"^-      ^^^^    ^■""'- 

a- ..u  Without  t:'j:;s.n^X:°sU"e;r 


-1! 


40 


A   FREXC/IMA.V  IN  AMERICA. 


.  I    ' 


a  certain  man  in  the  audience,  he  sent  some  one  to  in- 
quire into  the  state  of  his  mind. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  did  you  not  enjoy  the  lecture  that 
has  been  delivered  to-night?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  said  the  man,  "  it  was  a  most 
clever  and  entertaining  lecture." 

'*  But  you  never  smiled " 

"  Oh,  no — I'm  a  liar  myself." 

•  •  •  ■  • 

Sometimes  there  are  other  reasons  to  explain  the 
unsmiling  man's  attitude. 

One  evening  I  had  lectured  in  Birmingham.  On 
the  first  row  there  sat  the  whole  time  an  old  gentle- 
man, with  his  umbrella  standing  between  his  legs,  his 
hands  crossed  on  the  handle,  and  his  chin  resting  on 
his  hands.  Frowning,  his  mouth  gaping,  and  his  eyes 
perfectly  vacant,  he  remained  motionless,  looking  at 
me,  and  for  an  hour  aod  twenty  minutes  seemed  to 
say  to  me :  "  My  poor  fellow,  you  may  do  what  you 
like,  but  you  won't  *  fetch  '  me  to-night,  I  can  tell 
you."  I  looked  at  him,  I  spoke  to  him,  I  winked  at 
him,  I  aimed  at  him  ;  several  times  even  I  paused  so 
as  to  give  him  ample  time  to  see  a  point.  All  was  in 
vain.  I  had  just  returned,  after  the  lecture,  to  the  sec- 
retary's room  behind  the  platform,  when  he  entered. 

"  Oh,  that  man  again  !  "  I  cried,  pointing  to 
him. 

He  advanced  toward  mc,  took  my  hand,  and  said : 

"  Thank  you  very  much  for  your  excellent  lecture,  I 
have  enjoyed  it  verj'^  much." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Would  you  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  your  auto- 


:|., 


THE   OLD  GENTLEMAN  WHO  WILL  NOT   SMILE. 


ty' 


"! 


m 


42 


yl    FKEXCIIMAX  IX  AMERICA. 


graph  ?  "  And  he  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  beauti- 
ful autograph  book. 

"  Well,"  I  said  to  the  secretary  in  a  whisper,  "  this 
old  gentleman  is  extremely  kind  to  ask  for  my  auto- 
graph, for  I  am  certain  he  has  not  enjoyed  my  lecture." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Why,  he  never  smiled  once." 

"  Oh,  poor  old  gentleman,"  said  the  secretary  ;  "  he 
is  stone  deaf." 

Many  a  lecturer  must  have  met  this  man. 

It  would  be  unwise,  when  you  discover  that  certain 
members  of  the  audience  will  not  laugh,  to  give  them 
up  at  once.  As  long  as  you  are  on  the  platform  there 
is  hope. 

I  was  once  lecturing  in  the  chief  town  of  a  great 
hunting  center  in  England.  On  the  first  row  sat  half 
a  dozen  hair-parted-in-the-middle,  single-eye-glass 
young  swells.  They  stared  at  me  unmoved,  and 
never  relaxed  a  muscle  except  for  yawning.  It  was 
most  distressing  to  see  how  the  poor  fellows  looked 
bored.  How  I  did  wish  I  could  do  something  for 
them  !  I  had  spoken  for  nearly  an  hour  when,  by  ac- 
cident, I  upset  the  tumbler  on  my  table.  The  water 
trickled  down  the  cloth.  The  young  men  laughed, 
roared.  They  were  happy  and  enjoying  themselves, 
and  I  had  "  fetched  "  them  at  last.  I  have  never  for- 
gotten this  trick,  and  when  I  see  in  the  audience  an 
apparently  hopeless  case,  I  often  resort  to  it,  generally 
with  success. 

There  are  other  people  who  do  not  much  enjoy 
your  lecture  :  your  own. 


f-m  ■>  - 


A    FKEXCI/MAX  IX  AMERICA. 


43 


Of  course  you  must  forgive  your  wife.  The  clear 
creature  knows  all  your  lectures  by  heart  ;  she  has 
heard  your  jokes  hundreds  of  times.  She  comes  to 
your  lectures  rather  to  see  how  you  are  going  to  be 
received  than  to  listen  to  you.  Besides,  she  feels  that 
for  an  hour  and  a  half  you  do  not  belo  ig  to  her. 
When  she  comes  with  you  to  the  lecture  hall,  you  are 
both  ushered  into  the  secretary's  room.     Two  or  three 


THE   CHAPPIES    WHO   WOULD    NOT    LALGH. 


minutes  before  it  is  time  to  go  on  the  platform,  it  is 
suggested  to  her  that  it  is  time  she  should  take  her 
seat  among  the  audience.  She  looks  at  the  secretaiy 
and  recognizes  that  for  an  hour  and  a  half  her  husband 
is  the  property  ot  this  official,  who  is  about  to  hand 
him  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  public.  As  she 
says,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  she  almost  feels 
like  shaking  hands  with  her  husband,  as  Mrs.  Baldwin 
takes  leave  of  the  Professor  before  he  starts  on  his 
aerial  trip.  But,  though  she  may  not  laugh,  her  heart 
is  with  you,  and  she  is  busy  watching  the  audience, 
ever  ready  to  tell  them,  "  Now,  don't  you  think  this  is 


-.11 


44 


A   FREJVCl/MAiV  LV  AMERICA. 


a  very  good  point  ?  Well,  then,  if  you  do,  why  don't 
you  laugh  and  cheer  ?"  She  is  part  and  parcel  of 
yourself.  She  is  not  jealous  of  your  success,  for  she 
is  your  helpmate,  your  kind  and  sound  counselor,  and 
I  can  assure  you  that  if  an  audience  should  fail  to  be 
responsive,  it  would  never  enter  her  head  to  lay  the 
blame  on  her  husband  ,  slio  would  feel  the  most  su- 
preme coiitempt  for  "  that  stupid  audier'^e  that  was 
unable  to  appreciate  you."     That's  all. 

But  your  other  own  folk  !  You  are  no  hero  to  them. 
To  judge  the  effect  of  anything,  you  must  be  placed  at 
a  certain  distance,  and  your  own  folks  are  too  near  you. 

One  afternoon  I  had  given  a  iccture  to  a  large  and 
fashionable  audience  in  the  South  of  England.  A  near 
relative  of  mine,  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  was 
in  the  hall.  He  never  smiled.  I  watched  him  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end.  When  the  lecture  was 
over  he  came  to  the  little  room  behind  the  platform  to 
take  me  to  his  house.  As  he  entered  the  room  I  was 
settling  the  money  matters  with  my  impresario.  I  will 
let  you  into  the  secret.  There  was  fifty-two  pounds  in 
the  hous«,  and  my  share  was  two-thirds  of  the  gross 
receipts,  that  is  about  thirty-four  pounds.  My  relative 
heard  the  sum.  As  we  drove  along  in  his  dog-cart  he 
nudged  me  and  said  : 

"  Did  you  make  thirty-four  pounds  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Oh,  did  you  hear?"  I  said.  "  Yes,  that  was  my 
part  of  the  takings.  For  a  small  town  I  am  quite 
satisfied." 

"  I  should  think  you  were!"  he  replied.  "If  you 
had  made  thirty-four  shillings  you  would  have  been 
well  paid  for  your  work ! " 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


45 


Nothing  is  more  true  to  life  than  the  want  of  appre- 
ciation the  successful  man  encounters  from  relatives 
and  also  from  former  friends.  Nothing  is  more  cer- 
tain than  when  a  man  has  lived  on  terms  of  perfect 
equality  and  familiarity  with  a  certain  set  of  men,  he 
can  never  hope  to  be  anything  but  "plain  John"  to 
them,  though  by  his  personal  efforts  he  may  have  ob- 
tained the  applause  of  tlie  public.  Did  he  not  rub 
shoulders  with  them  for  years  in  tiie  same  walk  of 
life?  Why  these  bravos?  What  was  there  in  him 
more  than  in  them  ?  Even  though  they  may  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  single  him  out  as  a  "  rather  clever 
fellow,"  while  he  was  one  of  theirs,  still  the  surprise  at 
the  public  appreciation  is  none  the  less  keen,  ]>is  ad- 
vance toward  the  front  an  unforgivable  offense,  and 
they  are  immediately  seized  with  a  desire  to  rush  out 
in  the  highways  and  proclaim  that  he  is  only  "  Jack," 
and  not  the  **  John"  that  his  admirers  think  him.  I 
remember  that,  in  the  early  years  of  my  life  in  England, 
when  I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  ever  writing  a  book 
on  John  Bull,  a  young  English  friend  of  mine  did  me 
the  honor  of  rppreciating  highly  all  my  observations 
on  British  life  and  manners,  and  for  years  urged  me 
hard  and  oftcr  to  jot  them  down  to  make  a  book  of. 
One  day  the  book  was  finished  and  appeared  in  print. 
It  attracted  a  good  deal  of  public  attention,  but  no 
one  was  more  surprised  than  this  man,  who,  from  a 
kind  friend,  was  promptly  transformed  into  the  most 
severe  and  unfriendly  of  my  critics,  and  went  about 
saying  that  the  book  and  the  amount  of  public  atten- 
tion bestowed  upon  it  were  both  equally  ridiculous. 
He  has  never  spoken  to  me  since. 


,., 


46 


A    FREATIIMAiV  IN  AMERICA. 


A  successful  man  is  very  often  charged  with  wishing 
to  turn  liis  back  on  his  former  friends.     No  accusation 


THE   MAN   WHO   LAUGHS. 


is  more  false.  Nothing  would  please  him  more  than 
to  retain  the  friends  of  more  modest  times,  but  it 
is  they  who  have  changed  their  feelings.     They  snub 


k^i-~ 


//  fkexchma:^  ix  America. 


47 


ion 


him.  and  this  man,  who  is  in  constant   need  of  moral 
support  and //W'-w-///,  cannot  stand  it. 

Hut  let  us  return  to  the  audience. 

The  man  who  won't  smile  is  not   the  only  person 
who  causes  you  some  annoyance. 

There  is  tiie  one  who  hu.-l,s  too  soon  ;  who  lauidis 
before  you  have  made  your  points,  and  who  thinics 
because  you  have  opened  your  lecture  with  a  joke' 
t.iat  everything  you  say  afterward  is  a  joke.  There  is 
another  rather  objectionable  person  ;  it  is  the  one 
who  explains  your  points  to  his  neighbor,  and  makes 
them  laugh  aloud  just  at  the  moment  when  you  re- 
quire complete  silence  to  fire  off  one  of  your  best 
remarks. 

There  is  the  old  lady  who  listens  to  you  frowning 
and  who  does  not  mind  what  you  are  saying,  but  is  all' 
the  time  shakmg  for  fear  of  what  you  are  going  to  say 
next  She  never  laughs  before  she  has  :,een  other 
people  laugh.     Then  she  thinks  she  is  safe 

is  clear'"  R  '.T  ^''"^  '"  ''''''  "  ^'"^'"'^^  '''S-'"  '  '^^^^ 
s  clear      But  I  am  now  a  man  of  experience.     I  have 

lectured  m  concert  room.,  in  lecture  halls,  in  theaters 
m  churches,  in  schools.  I  have  addressed  embalmed' 
Bntons  m  English  health  resorts,  petrified  English 
mumm.es  at  hydropathic  establishments,  and  lunatics 
in  private  asylums. 

I  am  ready  for  the  fray. 


llfMi 


f 


1 1 


i> 
i 

i  If       f 


CHAPTER   VI. 

A  Connecticut  Audience— Merry   Meriden— A 

Hard  Pull. 


From  Meriden,  January  8. 

A  CONNECTICUT  audience  was  a  new  experi- 
ence to  me.  Yesterday  I  had  a  crowded  room 
at  the  Opera  House  in  Meriden  ;  but  if  you  had  been 
behind  the  scenery,  when  I  made  my  appearance  on 
the  stage,  you  would  not  have  suspected  it,  for  not 
one  of  the  audience  treated  me  to  a  little  applause.  I 
was  frozen,  and  so  were  they.  For  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  I  proceeded  very  cautiously,  feeling  the  ground, 
as  it  were,  as  I  went  on.  By  that  time,  the  thaw  set 
in,  and  they  began  to  smile.  I  must  say  that  they  had 
been  very  attentive  from  the  beginning,  and  seemed 
very  interested  in  the  lecture.  Encouraged  by  this,  I 
warmed  too.  It  was  curious  to  watch  that  audience. 
By  twos  and  threes  the  faces  lit  up  with  amusement 
till,  by  and  by,  the  house  wore  quite  an  animated 
aspect.  Presently  there  was  a  laugh,  then  two,  then 
laughter  more  general.  All  the  ice  was  gone.  Next, 
a  bold  spirit  in  the  stalls  ventured  some  applause.  At 
his  second  outburst  he  had  company.  The  uphill 
work  was  nearly  over  now,  and  I  began  to  feel  better. 
The  infection  spread  up  to  the  circles  and  the  gallery, 

48 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


49 


and  at  last  there  came  a  real  good  hearty  round  of 
appPause.  I  had  "  fetched  "  them  after  all.  Hut  it 
was  tough  work.  When  once  I  had  thcni  in  hand,  I 
took  good  care  not  to  let  them  go. 

•  •  •  •  • 

1  visited  several  interesting  establishments  this 
morning.  Merry  Meriden  is  famous  for  its  manufac- 
tories of electro-[)lated silverware,  Unfortunately  lam 
not  yet  accustomed  to  the  heated  rooms  of  America, 
and  I  could  not  stay  in  the  show-rooms  more  than  a 
few  minutes.  I  should  have  thought  the  heat  was 
strong  enough  to  melt  all  the  goods  on  view.  This 
town  looks  like  a  bee-hive  of  activity,  with  its  animated 
streets,  its  electric  cars.  Dear  old  Europe!  With  the 
exception  of  a  few  large  cities,  the  cars  are  still  drawn 
by  horses,  like  in  the  time  of  Sesostris  and  Nebuchad- 
nezzar. 


On  arriving  at  the  station  a  man  took  hold  of  my 
bag  and  asked  to  take  care  of  it  until  the  arrival  of  the 
train.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  belonged  to  the 
hotel  where  I  spent  the  night,  or  to  the  railroad  com- 
pany. Whatever  he  was,  I  felt  grateful  for  this  won- 
derful show  of  coui'tesy. 

"I  heard  you  last  night  at  the  Opera  House,"  he 
said  to  me. 

"  Why,  were  you  at  the  lecture?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  and  I  greatly  enjoyed  it." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  laugh  sooner?"  I  said. 

"  I  wanted  to  very  much  !  " 

"Why  didn't  you?" 


\l 


I 


M 


I  WAS  AT   YOL'K  LECTURE  LAST  NIGHT. 


II 


.4   J'/^l^Xa/M.tX  /X  AMlih'lCA.  51 

"Well,  .sir,   I   cuulcln't  very  well   laugh   before  the 
rest. 

"  Why  didn't  you  j^ive  the  signal?" 
"  Vou  see,  sir,"  l,c  said,  -  we  are  in  Connecticut  " 
"  Is    laughter   prohibited    by  the  Statute    ]Jook  in 
Connecticut?"  I  remarked. 

"No.   sir,  but  if   you  all  laugh  at  the  same  time, 
then ' 

"I  sec,  nobody  can  tell  ivl.o  Is  the  real  ciininal." 
ll.c  tra„,  arrived.     1  shoolc  hands  with  n>y  friend, 

after  offenns  li"n  half  a  dollar  for  hokling  my  bar-- 

winch  he  refused— and  went  on  board. 

Ch'.V'ux''",''  "'■"■;.  ^  ""•■'  "'y  "<""1  fncnd  Colonel 
Uu  es  n.  Taylor,  c<l,tor  of  that  very  successful  paper 
the  lioston  GM,e.  We  had  luncheon  together  in  H,e 
dnnug  ear,  and  time  pas.sed  delif,.htfully  i„  |,is  con.- 
pany  till  we  reached  the  Grand  Central  station,  Neu- 
^  ork,  when  we  parted.  He  »as  kind  enough  to  make 
me  prom,.,e  to  look  him  up  in  IJoston  in  a  fortnight's 
tm,e.  when  I  make  my  second  appearance  in  the  City 
ot  Culture.  ^ 


It     * 


CHAPTFk  VII. 

A  Tempting  Offer— The  Thursday  Ci.ur- 
NvE— Visit  to  Young  Ladies'  Schools- 
Players'  Clui?. 


-Bill 
-The 


JVezu   York,  January  g. 

ON  returning  here,  1  found  a  most  curious  letter 
awaiting  me.  I  must  tell  you  that  in  Boston, 
last  Monday,  I  made  the  following  remarks  in  my 
lecture: 

"The  American  is,  I  believe,  on  the  road  to  the 
possession  of  all  that  can  contribute  to  the  well-being 
and  success  of  a  nation,  hut  he  seems  to  me  to  have 
missed  the  path  that  leads  to  real  happiness.  To  live 
in  a  whirl  is  not  to  live  well.  The  little  French  shop- 
keeper who  locks  his  shop-door  from  half-past  one,  so 
as  not  to  be  disturbed  while  he  is  having  his  dinner 
with  his  wife  and  family,  has  come  nearer  to  solving 
the  great  problem  of  life,  '  How  to  be  happy,'  than  the 
American  who  sticks  on  his  door:  'Gone  to  dinner, 
shall  be  back  in  five  minutes.'  You  eat  too  fast,  and  I 
understand  why  your  antidyspeptic  pill-makers  cover 
your  wails,  your  forests  even,  with  their  advertise- 
ments." 

And  I  named  the  firm  of  pill-makers. 

The  letter  is  from  them.     They  offer  me  $1000  if  I 

s» 


A    FREXCHMAM  I  AT  AMERICA. 


53 


will  repeat  the  phrase  at  every  lecture  I  give  during 
my  tour  in  the  United  States. 


WHERE   INDIGESTION    IS   MANUFACTURED. 

You  may  imagine  if  I  will  be  careful  to  abstain  in 
the  future. 


I    lectured    to-night    before    the    members   of    the 
Thursday  Club  —  a   small,  but  very  select   audience, 


Il  'I  I    '  ■ 


II 


54 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


'I!     ! 


gathered  in  the  drawing-room  of  one  of  the  members. 
The  lecture  was  followed  by  a  comcrsasione.  A  very- 
pleasant  evening. 

I  left  the  housv^  at  half-past  eleven.  The  night 
was  beautiful.  I  walked  lo  the  hotel,  along  Fifth 
Avenue  to  Madison  Square,  and  along  Broadway  to 
Union  Square. 

What  a  contrast  to  the  great  thoroughfares  of  Lon- 
don !  Thousands  of  people  here  returning  from  the 
theaters  and  enjoying  their  walks,  instead  of  being 
obliged  to  rush  into  vehicles  to  escape  the  sights  pre- 
sented at  night  by  the  West  End  street.^  of  London. 
Here  you  can  walk  at  night  with  your  wife  and 
daughter,  without  the  least  fear  of  their  coming  Into 
contact  with  flaunting  vice. 

■•'  •  •  •         *  • 

Excuse  a  reflection  on  a  subject  of  a  very  domestic 
character.  My  clothes  have  come  from  the  laundress 
with  the  bill. 

Now  let  me  give  you  a  sound  piece  of  advice. 

When  you  go  to  America,  bring  with  you  a  dozen 
shirts.  No  more.  When  these  are  soiled,  buy  a 
new  dozen,  and  so  on.  You  will  thus  get  a  supply 
of  linen  for  many  years  to  come,  and  save  your  wash- 
ing bills  in  America,  where  the  price  of  a  shirt  is 
much  the  same  as  the  cost  of  washing  it. 


ar-v 


!ii 


January  lo. 

I  was  glad   to  see  Bill  Nye  again.     He  turned  up 

at  tb€  Everett   House   this  morning.     I  like  to  gaze 

at  his  clean-shaven  face,  that  is  seldom  broken  by  a 

smile,  and  to  hear  his  long,  melancholy  drawl.     His 


.4L 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN   AMERICA. 


55 


:ss 


IS 


# 


lank  form,  and  his  polished  dome  of  thought,  as  he 
dehghts  in  calling  his  joke  box,  help  to  make  him  so 
droll  on  the  platform.  When  his  audience  begins  to 
scream  with  laughter,  he  stops,  looks  at  them  in 
astonishment ;  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drop  and  an 
expression  of  sadness  comes  over  his  face.  The  effect 
is  irresistible.  They  shriek  for  mercy.  But  they 
don't  get  it.  He  is  accompanied  by  his  own  man- 
ager, who  starts  with  him  for  the  north  to-night. 
This  manager  has  no  sinecure.  I  don't  think  Bill 
Nye  has  ever  been  found  in  a  depot  ready  to  catch  a 
train.  So  the  manager  takes  him  to  the  station,  puts 
him  in  the  right  car,  gets  him  out  of  his  sleeping 
berth,  takes  him  to  the  hotel,  sees  that  he  is  behind 
the  platform  a  few  minutes  before  the  time  announced 
for  the  beginning  of  the  lecture,  and  generally  looks 
aiter  his  comfort.  Bill  is  due  in  Ohio  to-morrow 
night,  and  leaves  New  York  to-night  by  the  Grand 
Central  Depot. 

"Are  you  sure  it's  by  the  Grand  Central  ?"  he  said 
to  me. 

"  Why,  of  course,  corner  of  Forty-second  Street,  a 
five  or  ten  minutes'  ride  from  here." 

You  should  have  seen  the  expression  on  his  face,  as 
he  brawled  away : 

"  How — shall — I — get — there,  I — wonder  ?  " 


This  afternoon  I  paid  a  most  interesting  visit  to 
several  girls'  schools.  The  pupils  were  ordered  by 
the  head-mistr-ess,  in  each  case,  to  gather  in  the  large 
room.  There  they  arrived,  two  by  two,  to  the  sound 
of  a  march  played  on  the  piano  by  one  of  the  under- 


56 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


I 


r 


1 

\- 

i 

1 

ii-     ! 

mistresses.  When  they  had  all  reached  their  respec- 
tive places,  two  chords  were  struck  on  the  instrument, 
and  they  all  sat  down  with  the  precision  of  the  best 
drilled  Prussian  regiment.  Then  some  sang,  others 
recited  little  poems,  or  epigrams — mostly  at  the  ex- 
pense of  men.  When,  two  years  ago,  I  visited  the 
Normal  School  for  girls  in  the  company  of  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Education  Board  and  Colonel  Elliott  F. 
Shepard,  it  was  the  anniversary  of  George  Eliot's 
birth.  The  pupils,  one  by  one,  recited  a  few  quota- 
tions from  her  works,  choosing  all  she  had  written 
against  man. 

When  the  singing  and  the  recitations  were  over,  the 
mistress  requested  me  to  address  a  few  words  to  the 
young  ladies.  An  American  is  used  froni  infancy  to 
deliver  a  speech  on  the  least  provocation.  I  am  not. 
However,  I  managed  to  congratulate  these  young 
American  girls  on  their  charming  appearance,  and  to 
thank  them  for  the  pleasure  they  had  afforded  me. 
Then  two  chords  were  struck  on  the  piano  and  all 
stood  up;  two  more  chords,  and  all  marched  ofT  in 
double  file  to  the  sound  of  another  march.  Not  a 
smile,  not  a  giggle.  All  these  young  girls,  from  six- 
teen to  twenty,  looked  at  me  with  modesty,  but  com- 
plete self-assurance,  certainly  with  far  more  assurance 
than  I  dared  look  at  them. 

Then  the  mistress  asked  me  to  go  to  the  gymna- 
sium. There  the  girls  arrived  and,  as  solemnly  as  be- 
fore, went  through  all  kinds  of  muscular  exercises. 
They  arc  never  allowed  to  sit  down  in  the  class  rooms 
more  than  two  hours  at  a  time.  They  have  to  go 
down  to  the  gymnasium  every  two  hours. 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


57 


to 
me. 
all 
in 
ot  a 
six- 
:om- 
ancc 

nna- 
s  bc- 
:ises. 
>oms 

go 


I  was  perfectly  amazed  to  see  such  discipline. 
These  young  girls  are  the  true  daughters  of  a  great  Re- 
public: self-possessed,  self-confident,  dignified,  respect- 
ful, law-abiding. 

I  also  visited  the  junior  departments  of  those  schools. 
In  one  of  them,  eight  hundred  little  girls  from  five  to 
ten  years  of  age  were  gathered  together,  and,  as  in  the 
other  departments,  sang  and  recited  to  me.  These 
young  children  are  taught  by  the  girls  of  the  Normal 
School,  under  the  supervision  of  mistresses.  Here 
teaching  is  learned  by  teaching.  A  good  method. 
Doctors  are  not  allowed  to  practice  before  they  have 
attended  patients  in  hospitals.  Why  should  people  be 
allowed  to  teach  before  they  have  attended  schools  as 
apprentice  teachers? 

I  had  to  give  a  speech  to  these  dear  little  ones.  I 
wish  1  had  been  able  to  give  them  a  kiss  instead. 

In  my  little  speech  I  had  occasion  to  ^remark  that  I 
had  arrived  in  America  only  a  week  before.  After  I 
left, it  appears  that  a  little  girl,  aged  about  six,  went  to 
her  mistress  and  said  to  her : 

**  He's  onl}'  been  here  a  week  !  And  how  beautifully 
he  speaks  English  already!  " 

.  •  '         •  •  • 

I  have  been  "put  up"  at  the  Players'  Club  by  Mr. 
Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  and  dined  with  him  there 
to-night. 

This  club  is  the  snuggest  house  I  know  in  New 
York.  Only  a  few  months  old,  it  possesses  treasures 
such  as  few  clubs  a  hundred  years  old  possess.  It 
was  a  present  from  Mr.  Edwin  Booth,' the  greatest 
actor  America  has  produced.     He  bought  the  house 


iiii 


r 


•n^ 


V 


), . 


1 

1 

^  I 

i:  0 

58 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


in  Twentieth  Street,  facing  Gramercy  Park,  furnished 
it  handsomely  and  with  the  greatest  taste,  and  filled  it 


"HOW   BEAUTIFULLY   HE   SPEAKS   ENGLISH. 

with  all  the  artistic  treasures  that  he  has  collected  dur- 
ing his  life  :  portraits  of  celebrated  actors,  most  valu- 


1 


lur- 
ilu- 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  A  ME  NIC  A. 


59 


led 
I  it 


able  old  engravings,  photographs  with  the  originals* 
autographs,  china,  curios  of  all  sorts,  stage  properties, 
such  as  the  sword  used  by  Macready  in  Macbeth,  and 
hundreds  of  such  beautiful  and  interesting  souvenirs. 
On  the  second  floor  is  the  library,  mostly  connposed 
of  works  connected  with  the  drama. 

This  club  is  a  perfect  gem. 

When  in  New  York,  Mr.  Booth  occupies  a  suite  of 
rooms  on  the  second  floor,  which  he  has  reserved  for 
himself;  but  he  has  handed  over  the  property  to  the 
trustees  of  the  club,  who,  after  his  death,  will  become 
the  sole  proprietors  of  the  house  and  of  all  its  priceless 
contents.  It  was  a  princely  gift,  worthy  of  the  prince 
of  actors.  The  members  are  all  connected  with  litera- 
ture, art,  and  the  drama,  and  number  about  one  hun- 
dred. 


i'. 


T- 


^ 


! 


( 


II.' 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

The  Flourishing  of  CoATs-or-AuMS  in  America 
—  Reflections  Thereon— Forefathers  Made 
TO  Order— The  Phonograph  at  Home— The 
Wealth  of  New  York  —  Departure  for 
Buffalo. 


New  Vork^  January  ii. 

THERE  are  in  America,  as  in  many  otlier  coun- 
tries of  the  world,  people  who  have  coats-of-arms, 
and  whose  ancestors  had  no  arms  to  their  coats. 

This  remark  was  suggested  by  the  reading  of  the 
following  paragraph  in  the  New  York  World  this 
morning: 

There  is  growing  in  this  country  the  rotten  influence  of  rank, 
pride  of  station,  contempt  for  labor,  scorn  of  poverty,  worship  of 
caste,  such  as  we  verily  believe  is  growing  in  no  country  in  the 
world.  What  are  the  ideals  that  fill  so  large  apart  of  the  day  and 
generation  ?  For  the  boy  it  is  riches  ;  for  the  girl  the  marrying  of 
a  title.  The  ideal  of  this  time  in  America  is  vast  riches  and  the 
trappings  of  ranl<.  It  is  good  that  proper  scorn  should  be 
expressed  of  such  ideals. 

American  novelists,  journalists,  and  preachers  are 
constantly  upbraiding  and  ridiculing  their  country- 
women for  their  love  of  titled  foreigners ;  but  the 
society  women  of  the  great  Republic  only  love  the 
foreign  lords  all  the  more ;  and  I  have  heard  some  of 

60 


A    FRi:XC//MAA'   IX  .D/A'A'/C.l. 


6i 


them  openly  express  tlieir  contempt  of  a  form  of  jjjov- 
ernment  whose  motto  is  one  of  the  clauses  of  tlie 
great  Declaration  of  Independence:  "  All  men  are  cre- 
ated equal."  I  really  believe  that  if  the  society 
women  of  America  had  their   own    way,  they  would 


A    1  ITl.E. 


set  up  a  monarchy  to-morrow,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  an 
aristocracy  established  as  the  sequel  of  it. 

President  Garfield  once  said  that  the  only  real  coats- 
of-arms  in  America  were  shirt-sleeves.  The  epigram  is 
good,  but  not  based  on  truth,  as  every  epigram  should 
be.  Labor  in  the  States  is  not  honorable  for  its  own 
sake,  but  only  if  it  brings  wealth.  President  Garfield's 
epigram  "  fetched  "  the  crowd,  no  doubt,  as  any  smart 
democratic  or  humanitarian   utterance  will  anywhere, 


If 


w 


62 


A   J^'KEXa/MAA'  LV  AMERICA. 


whether  it  be  emitted  from  the  platform,  the  stage, 
tlie  pulpit,  or  the  hustings ;  but  if  any  American 
philosopher  heard  it,  he  must  have  smiled. 

A  New  York  friend  who  called  on  me  this  morning, 
and  with  whom  I  had  a  chat  on  this  subject,  assured 
me  that  there  is  now  such  a  demand  in  the  States  for 
pedigrees,  heraldic  insignia,  mottoes,  and  coronets, 
that  it  has  created  a  new  industr}'.  He  also  informed 
me  that  almost  every  American  city  has  a  college  of 
heraldry,  which  will  provide  unbroken  lines  of  ances- 
tors, and  make  to  order  a  new  line  of  forefathers  "of 
the  most  approved  pattern,  with  suitable  arms,  etc." 

Addison's  prosperous  foundling,  who  ordered  at  the 
second-hand  picture-dealer's  "a  complete  set  of  ances- 
tors," is,  according  to  my  friend,  a  typical  personage 
to  be  met  with  in  the  States  nowadays. 


m 


i' 

1 

1 

j: 

i 

1 

i 

I'l 

r^ 

1, 
■1 

! 

Bah  !  all.  r  all,  every  country  has  her  snobs.  Why 
should  America  be  an  exception  to  the  rule?  When  I 
think  of  the  numberless  charming  people  I  have  met  in 
this  country,  I  may  as  well  leave  it  to  the  Europeans 
who  have  come  in  contact  with  American  snobs  to 
speak  about  them,  inasmuch  as  the  subject  is  not  par- 
ticularly entertaining. 

What  amuses  me  much  more  here  is  the  effect  of 
democracy  on  what  we  Europeans  would  call  the  lower 
classes. 

A  few  days  ago,  in  a  hotel,  I  asked  a  porter  if  my 
trunk  had  arrived  from  the  station  and  had  been  taken 
to  my  room. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  majestically ;  "you  ask 
that  gentleman." 


A   FKEXCI/M.IX  /X     LUJ-.A'/CI. 


63 


The  gentleman   pointed  out  to   me  was  the  negro 
who  looks  after  the  luggage  in  the  establishment. 

In  the  papers  you  may  read  in  the   advertisement 
columns:   "  Washing 
wanted  by  a  lady  at 
such    and    such    ad- 
dress." 

The  cabman  will 
ask,  "  If  you  are  the 
man  as  wants  a  ^'■<v/- 
tliman  to  drive  him 
to  the  deepoy 

During  an  inquiry 
concerning  the  work- 
house at  Cambridge, 
Mass.,  a  witness 
spoke  of  the  "ladies' 
cells,"asbeing  all  that 
should  be  desired. 

Democracy,  such 
is  thy  handiwork ! 


THE   NEW   YORK    CABMAN. 


I  went  to  the  Stock  Exchange  in  Wall  Street  at  one 
o'clock.  I  thought  that  Whitechapel,  on  Saturday 
night,  was  beyond  competition  as  a  scene  of  rowdyism. 
I  have  now  altered  this  opinion.  I  am  still  wondering 
whether  I  was  not  guyed  by  my  pilot,  and  whether  I 
was  not  shown  the  playground  of  a  madhouse,  at  the 
time  when  all  the  most  desperate  lunatics  are  let 
loose. 

After  lunch  I  went  to  Falk's  photograph  studio  to 
be  taken,  and   read   the   first  page  of  "  Jonathan  and 


w 


64 


A   FKKXa/AfAA'  IX  AMERICA. 


...    •%     A  ( 


i 


His  Continent,"  into  his  plionofTtaj)]!.  Marvelous,  this 
plionoj»raph  !  I  imagine  Mr.  Fall<  has  the  best  collec- 
tion of  cylinders  in  the  world.  I  heard  a  r  tig  by 
Patti,  the  piano  played  by  Von  Hiilow,  speeches,  or- 
chestras, and  what  not !  The  music  is  reproduced  most 
faithfully.  With  the  voice  the  instrument  is  not  quite 
so  successful.  Instead  of  your  own  voice,  you  fancy 
you  hear  an  imitation  of  it  by  Punch.  All  the  same,  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  wonder  of  the  a<^e. 

After  paying  a  few  calls,  and  dining  quietly  at  the 
Everett  House,  I  went  to  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House,  and  saw  *'  The  Barber  of  Bagdad."  Cornelius's 
music  is  Wagnerian  in  aim,  but  I  did  not  carry  away 
with  me  a  single  bar  of  all  I  heard.  After  all,  this  is 
perhaps  the  aim  of  Wagnerian  music. 

What  a  sight  is  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  with 
its  boxes  full  of  lovely  women,  arrayed  in  gorgeous 
garments,  and  blazing  with  diamonds  !  What  luxury  ! 
What  wealth  is  fathered  there  ! 

How  interesting  it  would  be  to  know  the  exact 
amount  of  wealth  of  which  New  York  can  boast  !  In 
this  morning's  papers  I  read  that  land  on  Fifth  Avenue 
has  lately  sold  for  $115  a  square  foot.  In  an  acre  of 
land  there  are  43,560  square  feet,  which  at  $115  a 
foot  would  be  $5,009,400  an  acre.  Just  oblige  me  by 
thinking  of  it ! 

•  •  •  •  • 

January  12. 

Went  to  the  Catholic  Cathedral  at  eleven.  A  mass 
by  Haydn  was  splendidly  rendered  by  full  orchestra 
and  admirable  chorus.  The  altar  was  a  blaze  of  candles. 
The  yellow  of  the  lights  and  the  plain  mauve  of  two 


A  J'V^/-.VC7/A/.I.V  /X  AAf/:/^/CA. 


65 


w.ndows  one  on  each  side  of  the  candles,  gave  a  most' 
beautiful  crocus-bed  effect.     I  enjoyed  the  service 

In  the  evening  I  dined  with  Mr.  Lloyd  Bryce,  editor 
of  the  jVorrA  American  Rcviczv,  at  the  splendid  resi- 
dence  of  his  father-iw-law.  Mr.  Cooper,  late  Mayor  of 
New  York.  Mrs.  Lloyd  Bryce  is  one  of  the  hand- 
-somest  American  women  I  have  met,  and  a  most 
charming  and  graceful  hostess.  I  reluctantly  left 
ear^y   so   as    to   prepare    for    my   night    journey    to 


h- 


1 


i 

1 

l! 

i  IK 

18 

1 

1 

1 

;  i 

M 

tamJ 

l:      i 

CHAPTER   IX. 

Different  Ways  of  Advertising   a  Lecture- 
American  Impresarios  and  Their  Methods. 


Buffalo,  January  13. 

WHEN  you  intend  to  give  a  lecture  anywhere, 
and  you  wish  it  to  be  a  success,  it  is  a  mistake 
to  make  a  mystery  of  it. 

On  arriving  here  this  morning,  I  found  that  my  com- 
ing had  been  kept  perfectly  secret. 

Perhaps  my  impresario  wishes  my  audience  to  be 
very  select,  and  has  sent  only  private  circulars  to  the 
intelligent,  well-to-do  inhabitants  of  the  place — or,  I 
said  to  myself,  perhaps  the  house  is  all  sold,  and  he  has 
no  need  of  any  further  advertisements. 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Sometimes,  however,  it  is  a  mistake  to  advertise  a 
lecture  too  widely.  You  run  the  risk  of  getting  the 
wrong  people. 

A  fe^»'  years  ago,  in  Dundee,  a  little  corner  gallery, 
placed  at  the  end  of  the  hall  where  I  was  to  speak,  was 
thrown  open  to  the  public  at  sixpence.  I  warned  the 
manager  that  I  was  no  attraction  for  the  sixpenny 
public  ;  but  he  insisted  on  having  his  own  way. 

The  hall  was  well  filled,  but  not  the  little  gallery, 
where  I  counted  about  a  dozen  people.    Two  of  these, 

66 


I 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


67 


however,  did  not  remain  long,  and,  after  the  lecture,  I 
was  told  that  they  had  gone  to  the  box-ofifice  and  asked 
to  have  their  money  returned  to  them.     "Why,"  they 

said,  "  it's  a  d swindle;  it's  only  a  man  talking." 

The  man  at  the  box-offiee  was  a  Scotchman,  and  it 
will  easily  be  understood  that  the  two  sixpences 
remained  in  the  hands  of  the  management. 


4 

-  Si 


iry, 
vas 

^^ 

the 

1 

my 

■  7' 

;ry, 

A 

;se, 

1 

I  can  well  remember  how  startled  I  was,  two  years 
ago,  on  arriving  in  an  American  town  where  I  was  to 
lecture,  to  see  the  walls  covered'with  placards  announc- 
ing my  lecture  thus  :  "  He  is  coming,  ah,  ha  !  "  And 
after  I  had  arrived,  new  placards  wepe  stuck  over  the 
old  ones :     '*  He  has  arrived,  ah,  ha  !  " 

In  another  American  town  I  was  advertised  as  "the 
best  paying  platform  celebrity  in  the  world."  In 
another,  in  the  following  way  :  "  If  you  would  grow 
fat  and  happy,  go  and  hear  Max  O'Rell  to-night." 

One  of  my  Chicago  lectures  was  advertised  thus  : 
"Laughter  is  restful.  If  you  desire  tC'  feel  as  though 
you  had  a  vacation  for  a  week,  do  not  fail  to  attend 
this  lecture." 

I  was  once  fortunate  enough  to  deal  with  a  local 
manager  who,  before  sending  it  to  the  newspapers, 
submitted  to  my  approbation  the  following  advertise- 
ment, of  which  he  was  very  proud.  I  don't  know 
whether  it  was  his  own  literary  production,  or  whether 
he  had  borrowed  it  of  a  showman  friend.     Here  it  is: 

Two  Hours  of  Unalloyed  Fun  and  Happiness 

Will  put  two  inches  of  solid  fat  even  upon  the  ribs  of  the  most 
cadaverous  old  miser.  Everybody  shouts  peals  of  laughter  as  the 
rays  of  fun  are  emitted  from  this  famous  son  of  merry-makers. 


\\\\- 

m 


( 

!l 

1 

!! 

» 

-- 

ti 


AS  JOHN   BULL. 


11    I 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


69 


I  threatened  to  refuse  to  appear  if  the  advertise- 
ment was  inserted  in  the  papers.  This  manager  hiter 
gave  his  opinion  that,  as  a  lecturer,  I  was  good,  but 
that  as  a  man,  I  was  a  little  bit  "  stuck-up." 

When  you  arrive  in  an  American  town  to  lecture, 
you  find  the  place  flooded  with  your  pictures,  huge 
lithographs  stuck  on  the  walls,  on  the  shop  windows, 
in  your  very  hotel  entrance  hail.  Your  own  face 
stares  at  you  everywhere,  you  are  recognized  by 
everybody.  You  have  to  put  up  with  it.  If  you  love 
privacy,  peace,  and  quiet,  don't  go  to  America  on  a 
lecturing  tour.  That  is  what  your  impresario  will  tell 
you. 

•  •  •  •  • 

In  each  town  where  you  go,  you  have  a  local  man- 
ager to  "  boss  the  show  ";  as  he  has  to  pay  you  a  cer- 
tain fee,  which  he  guarantees,  you  cannot  find  fault 
with  him  for  doing  his  best  to  have  a  large  audience. 
He  runs  risks;  you  do  not.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
you  are  engaged,  not  by  a  society  for  a  fee,  but  by  a 
manager  on  sharing  terms,  say  sixty  per  cent,  of  the 
gross  receipts  for  you  and  forty  for  himself.  Suppose 
his  local  expenses  amount  to  $200  ;  he  has  to  bring 
$500  into  the  house  before  there  is  a  cent  for  himself. 
You  must  forgive  him  if  he  goes  about  the  place  beat- 
ing the  big  drum.  If  you  do  not  like  it,  there  is  a 
place  where  you  can  stay — home. 


^ 


An  impresario  once  asked  me  if  I  required  a  piano, 
and  if  I  would  bring  my  own  accompanist.  Another 
wrote  to  ask  the  subject  of  my  "entertainment." 


l! 


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AS  SANDY. 


A   FREXCHMAN  IX  AMERICA. 


7» 


AS   TAl 


I  wrote  back  to  say  that  my  lecture  was  generally 
found  entertaining,  but,  that  I  objected  to  its  being 
called  an  entertain- 
ment. I  added  that 
the  lecture  was  com- 
posed of  four  character 
sketches,  viz.,  John 
l^ull,  Sandy,  Pat,  and 
Jonathan. 

In  his  answer  to  this, 
he  inquired  whether  I 
should  change  my  dress 
four  times  during  the 
performance,  and 
whether  it  would  not 
be  a  good  thing  to  have  a  little  music  during  the 
intervals. 

Just  fancy  my  appearing  on  the  platform  succes- 
sively dressed  as  John,  Sandy,  Pat,  and  Jonathan  ! 

A  good  impresario  is  constantly  on  the  look  out  for 
anything  that  may  draw  the  attention  of  the  public  to 
his  entertainment.  Nothing  is  sacred  for  liim.  His 
eyes  and  ears  are  always  opeti,  all  his  senses  on  the  alert. 

One  afternoon  I  was  walking  with  my  impresario 
over  the  beautiful  Clifton  Suspension  Bridge.  I  was 
to  lecture  at  the  Victoria  Hall,  Bristol,  in  the  evening. 
We  leaned  on  the  railings,  and  grew  pensive  as  we 
looked  at  the  scenery  and  the  abyss  under  us. 

My  impresario  sighed. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about?"  I  said  to  him. 

"  Last  year,"  he  replied,  "  a  girl  tried  to  commit  sui- 


!!■  : 


AS   JONATHAN. 


i 


M 


fS' 


A    FNEXa/MAy  /.V  AMERICA. 


73 


cide  and  jumped  over  this  bridge  ;  but  the  wind  got 
under   her   skirt,    made    a    parachute  of  it,  and    she 


'I    I.I  "Ik.. 

llll':   WOLLU-IiE   SUICIDE. 


descended  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley  perfectly  un- 
hurt." 

And  he  sighed  again. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  why  do  you  sigh  ?  " 

"Ah  !  my  dear  fellow,  if  you  could  do  the  same  this 
afternoon,  there  would  be  'standing  room  only'  in  the 
Victoria  Hall  to-night." 

I  left  that  bridge  in  no  time. 


IH 


iri 


il 


CHAPTER  X. 
Buffalo — The      Nia(;aka      Falls— A     Frost — 

ROCHESTKRTO  THE  RESCUE  OK  BUFFALO— CLEVE- 
LAND—I  Meet  Jonathan— Phantasmagoria. 


ir 


II  i 


Bufftilo,  Jiinuary  14. 

THIS  town  is  situated  twenty-seven  niilr-s  from 
Niagara  Falls.  Tiie  Americans  say  that  the 
Buffalo  people  can  hear  the  noise  of  the  water-fall 
quite  distinctly.  I  am  quite  prepared  to  believe  it. 
However,  an  hour's  journey  by  rail  and  then  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour's  sleigh  ride  will  take  you  from  Buffalo 
within  sight  of  this,  perhaps  the  grandest  piece  of 
scenery  in  the  world.  Words  cannot  describe  it.  You 
spend  a  couple  of  hours  visiting  every  point  of  view. 
You  are  nailed,  as  it  were,  to  the  ground,  feeling  like 
a  pigmy,  awestruck  in  the  presence  of  nature  at  her 
grandest.  The  snow  was  falling  thickly,  and  though 
it  made  the  view  less  clear,  it  added  to  the  grandeur  of 
the  scene. 

I  went  down  by  the  cable  car  to  a  level  with  the  rapids 
and  the  place  where  poor  Captain  Webb  was  last  seen 
alive  ;  a  presumptuous  pigmy,  he,  to  dare  such  waters 
as  these.  His  widow  keeps  a  little  bazaar  near  the 
falls  and  sells  souvenirs  to  the  visitors. 

It  was  most  thrilling  to  stand  within  touching  dis- 


i 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


7.S 


tance  of  that  great  torrent  of  water,  called  the  Niag- 
ara Falls,  ill  distinction  to  the  Horseshoe  Falls,  to 
hear  the  roar  of  it  as  it  fell.  The  idea  of  force  it  gives 
one  is  tremendous.  You  stand  and  wonder  how  many 
ages  it  has  been  roaring  on,  what  eyes  besides  your 
own  have  gazed  awestruck  at  its  mighty  rushing,  and 


SHOOTING   THE   RAHIUS. 


wonder  if  the  pigmies  will  ever  do  what  they  say 
they  will  *,  one  day  make  those  columns  of  water 
their  servants  to  turn  wheels  at  their  bidding. 

We  crossed  the  bridge  over  to  the  Canadian  side, 
and  there  we  had  the  whole  grand  panorama  before 
our  eyes. 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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It  appears  that  it  is  quite  a  feasible  thing  to  run  the 
rapids  in  a  barrel.  Girls  have  done  it,  and  it  may  be- 
come the  fashionable  sport  for  American  girls  in  the 
near  future.  It  has  been  safely  accomplished  plenty  of 
times  by  young  fellows  up  for  an  exciting  day's  sport. 

On  the  Canadian  shore  was  a  pretty  villa  where 
Princess  Louise  stayed  while  she  painted  the  scene. 
Some  of  the  pretty  houses  were  fringed  all  round  the 
roofs  and  balconies  in  the  loveliest  way,  with  icicles  a 
yard  long,  and  loaded  with  snow.  They  looked  most 
beautiful. 

On  the  way  back  we  called  at  Prospect  House,  a 
charming  hotel  which  I  hope,  if  ever  I  go  near  Buffalo 
again,  J  shall  put  up  at  for  a  day  or  two,  to  see  the 
neighborhood  well. 

Two  years  ago  I  was  lucky  enough  to  witness  a 
most  curious  sight.  The  water  was  frozen  under  the 
falls,  and  a  natural  bridge,  formed  by  the  ice,  was  be- 
ing used  by  venturesome  people  to  cross  the  Niagara 
River  on.     This  occurs  very  seldom. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  have  had  a  fizzle  to-night.  I  almost  expected  it. 
In  a  hall  that  could  easily  have  accommodated  fifteen 
hundred  people,  I  lectured  to  an  audience  of  about 
three  hundred.  Fortunately  they  proved  so  intelli- 
gent, warm,  and  appreciative  that  I  did  not  feel  at  all 
depressed  ;  but  my  impresario  did.  However,  he  con- 
gratulated me  on  having  been  able  to  do  justice  to  the 
causerie,  as  if  I  had  had  a  bumper  house. 

I  must  own  that  it  is  much  easier  to  be  a  tragedian 
than  a  light  comedian  before  a  $200  house. 


A    JA'EXC/IArAX  IX  AMERICA. 


77 


CI  eve  la  mi,  O,,  January  15. 

The  weather  is  so  bad  tliat  I  shall  be  unable  to  see 
anything  of  tliis  city,  which,  people  tell  me,  is  very 
beautiful. 

On  arriving  at  the  Weddcll  Mouse,  I  met  a  New 
York  friend. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "how  are  )  ou  getting  on  ?  Where 
do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  Buffalo,"  said  I,  pulling  a  lotig  face. 

"What  is  the  matter.-'  Don't  you  like  the  Buffalo 
people?  " 

"Yes;  I  liked  those  I  saw.  I  should  have  liked  to 
extend  my  love  to  a  larger  number.  I  had  a  fizzle; 
about  three  hundred  people.  Perhaps  I  drew  all  the 
brain  of  Buffalo." 

"  How  many  people  do  you  say  you  had  in  the 
hall?  "  said  my  friend. 

"  About  three  hundred." 

"Then  you  must  have  drawn  a  good  many  people 
from  Rochester,  I  should  think,"  said  he  quite  sol- 
emnly. 

In  reading  the  Buffalo  newspapers  this  morning,  I 
noticed  favorable  criticisms  of  my  lecture  ;  but  while 
my  English  was  praised,  so  far  as  the  language  went, 
severe  comments  were  passed  on  my  pronunciation. 
In  England,  where  the  English  language  is  spoken 
with  a  decent  pronunciation,  I  never  once  read  a  con- 
demnation of  my  pronunciation  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. 

I  will  not  appear  again  in  Buffalo  until  I  feel  much 
improved. 


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^    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


En  route  to  Pittsburgh  January  16. 

The  American  railway  stations  have  special  waiting 
rooms  for  ladies — not,  as  in  England,  places  furnished 
with  looking-;jlasses,  where  they  can  go  and  arrange 


GOING  TO    PITTSBURG,    I   GUESS. 


their  bonnets,  etc.  No,  no.  Places  w1 -re  they  can 
wait  for  the  trains,  protected- against  the  contamina- 
tion of  man,  and  where  they  are  spared  the  sight 
of  that   eternal  little  round  piece  of  furniture  with 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


79 


which  the  floors  of  the  whole  of  the  United  States 
are  dotted. 

At  Cleveland  Station,  this  mornin^j,  I  met  Jonathan, 
such  as  he  is  represented  in  the  comic  papers  of  the 
world.  A  man  of  sixty,  with  long  straight  wiiite  hair 
failing  over  his  shoulders  ;  no  mustache,  long  imperial 
beard,  a  razor-blade-shaped  nose,  small  keen  eyes,  and 
high  prominent  cheek-bones,  the  whole  smoking  the 
traditional  cigar;  the  Anglo-Saxon  indianized — Jona- 
than. If  he  had  had  a  long  swallow-tail  coat  on,  a 
waistcoat  ornamented  with  stars,  and  trousers  with 
stripes,  he  might  have  sat  for  the  cartoons  of  Puck  or 
Judge. 

In  the  car,  Jonathan  came  and  sat  opposite  me. 
A  few  minutes  after  the  train  had  started,  he 
said  : 

*'  Going  to  Pittsburg,  I  guess." 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

•'  To  lecture  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  I  lecture  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly ;  I  heard  you   in  Boston  ten  days 


ago. 


He  offered  me  a  cigar,  told  me  his  name — I  mean 
his  three  names — what  he  did,  how  much  he  earned, 
where  he  lived,  how  many  children  he  had  ;  he  read 
me  a  poem  of  his  own  composition,  invited  me  to  go 
and  see  him,  and  entertained  me  for  three  hours  and  a 
half,  telling  me  the  history  of  his  life,  etc.  Indeed,  it 
was  Jonathan. 


«|i 


i:  < 


All  the  Americans  I  have  met  have  written  a  poem 
(pronounced  pome).    Now  I  am  not  generalizing.    I 


«* — 5^ 


SBB 


80 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  A  ME  RICA. 


do  not  say  that  all  the  Americans  have  written  a  poem, 
I  say  all  the  Americans  I  have  met. 


4 


1     ^  * 

Vi 

/ 1  ;l 

L, 

Pittsburg  {same  day  later). 

I  lecture  here  to-night  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Press  Club  of  the  town.  The  president  of  the  club 
came  to  meet  me  at  the  station,  in  order  to  show  me 
something  of  the  town. 

I  like  Pittsburg  very  much.  From  the  top  of  the 
hill,  which  you  reach  in  a  couple  of  minutes  by  the  cable 
car,  there  is  a  most  beautiful  sight  to  contemplate: 
one  never  to  be  forgotten. 

On  our  way  to  the  hotel,  my  kind  friend  took  me  to 
a  fire  station,  and  asked  the  man  in  command  of  the 
place  to  go  through  the  performance  of  a  fire-ca!l  for 
my  own  edification. 

Now,  in  two  words,  here  is  the  thing. 

You  touch  the  fire  bell  in  your  own  house.  That 
causes  the  name  of  your  street  and  the  number  of  your 
house  to  appear  in  the  fire  station  ;  it  causes  all  the 
doors  of  the  station  to  open  outward.  Wait  a  min- 
ute— it  causes  whips  which  are  hanging  behind  the 
horses,  to  lash  them  and  send  them  under  harnesses 
that  fall  upon  them  and  are  self-adjusting ;  it  causes 
the  men,  who  are  lying  down  on  the  first  floor,  to  slide 
down  an  incline  and  fall  on  the  box  and  steps  of  the 
cart.  And  off  they  gallop.  It  takes  about  two  minutes 
to  describe  it  as  quickly  as  possible.  It  only  takes 
fourteen  seconds  to  do  it.  It  is  the  nearest  approach 
to  phantasmagoria  that  I  have  yet  seen  in  real  life. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


A  Great  Admirer— Notes  on  Railway  Travel- 
ing—Is America  a  Free  Nation?— A  Pleas- 
ant Evening  in  New  York. 


In  the  vestibule  train  from  Pittsburg  to  New  York, 
January  17. 

nPHIS  morning,  before  leaving  the  hotel  in  Pitts- 
■i-  burg,  I  was  approached  by  a  young  man  who, 
after  giving  me  his  card,  thanked  me  most  earnestly 
for  my  lecture  of  last  night.  In  fact,  he  nearly  em- 
braced me. 

••  I  never  enjoyed  myself  so  much  in  my  life,"  he 
safd. 

I  grasped  his  hand. 

"  I  am  glad,"  I  replied,  "  that  my  humble  effort 
pleased  you  so  much.  Nothing  is  more  gratifying  to 
a  lecturer  than  to  know  he  has  afforded  pleasure  to  his 
audience." 

"  Yes,"  he   said,  "  it   gave   me    immense    pleasure. 
You  see,  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  girl  in  town.  . 
All  her  family  went  to  your  show,  and  I  had  the  girl 
at  home  all  to  myself.     Oh  !  I  had  such  a  good  time  ! 
Thank  you  so  much !     Do  lecture  here  again  soon." 

And,  after  wishing  me  a  pleasant  journey,  he  left 

81 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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me.     I  was  glad  to  know  I  left  at  least  one  friend  and 
admirer  behind  me  in  Pittsburg. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  had  a  charming  audience  last  night,  a  large  and 
most  appreciative  one.  I  was  introduced  by  Mr. 
George  H.  Welshons,  of  the  Pittsburg  Times,  in  a  neat 
little  speech,  humorous  and  very  gracefully  worded. 
After  the  lecture,  I  was  entertained  at  supper  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Press  Club,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  my- 
self with  the  members.  As  I  entered  the  Club,  I  was 
amused  to  see  two  journalists,  who  had  heard  me  at 
the  lecture  discourse  on  chewing,  go  to  a  corner  of  the 
room,  and  there  get  rid  of  tlieir  wads,  before  coming 
to  shake  hands  with  me. 

•  •  •  •  • 

If  you  have  not  journeyed  in  a  vestibule  train  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Railroad  Company,  you  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  travel  in  luxurious  comfort.  Dining 
saloon,  drawing  room,  smoking  room,  reading  room 
with  writing  tables,  supplied  with  the  papers  and  a 
library  of  books,  all  furnished  with  exquisite  taste  and 
luxury.     The  cookery  is  good  and  well  served. 

The  day  has  passed  without  adventures,  but  in  com- 
fort. We  left  Pittsburg  at  seven  in  the  morning.  At 
nine  we  passed  Johnstown.  The  terrible  calamity  that 
befell  that  city  two  years  ago  was  before  my  mind's 
eye;  the  town  suddenly  inundated,  the  people  rushing 
on  the  bridge,  and  there  caught  and  burnt  alive. 
America  is  the  country  for  great  disasters.  Every- 
thing here  is  on  a  huge  scale.  Toward  noon,  the 
country  grew  hilly,  and,  for  an  hour  before  we  reached 
Harrisburg,  it  gave  me  great  enjoyment,  for  in  Amer- 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


83 


ii 


ica,  where  there  is  so  much  sameness  in  the  land- 
scapes, it  is  a  treat  to  see  the  mountains  of  Central 
Pennsylvania  breaking  the  monotony  of  the  huge  flat 
stretch  of  land. 

The  employees  (  I  must  be  careful  not  to  say  "  ser- 
vants") of  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  are  polite  and 
form  an  agreeable  contrast  to  those  of  the  other  rail- 
way companies.  Unhappily,  the  employees  whom 
you  find  on  board  the  Pullman  cars  are  not  in  the  con- 
trol of  the  company. 


'    ! 


The  train  will  reach  Jersey  City  for  New  York  at 
seven  to-night.     I  shall  dine  at  my  hotel. 

About  5.30  it  occurred  to  me  to  go  to  the  dining- 
room  car  and  ask  for  a  cup  of  tea.  Before  entering 
the  car  I  stopped  at  the  lavatory  to  wash  my  hands. 
Some  one  was  using  the  basin.  It  was  the  conductor, 
tiie  autocrat  in  charge  of  the  dining  car,  a  fat,  sleek, 
ciiewing,  surly,  frowning,  snarling  cur. 

He  turned  round. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  wash  my  hands,"  I 
timidly  ventured. 

*•  You  see  very  well  I  am  using  the  basin.  You  go 
to  the  next  car." 

I  came  to  America  this  time  with  a  large  provision 
of  philosophy,  and  quite  determined  to  even  enjoy 
such  little  scenes  as  this.  So  I  quietly  went  to  the 
next  lavatory,  returned  to  the  dining-car,  and  sat  down 
at  one  of  the  tables. 

"  Will  you,  please,  give  me  a  cup  of  tea?"  I  said  to 
one  of  the  colored  waiters. 


s  1 


tt    ^ 


mmmmmmm 


11 


f 


i*  ! 


Hi' 


it 


84 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


**  I  can't  do  dat,  sah,"  said  the  negro.  "  You  can  hrve 
diiinah." 

"  But  I  don't  want  dinnah"  I  replied  ;  "  I  want  a  cup 
of  tea." 

"  Den  you  must  ask  dat  gem'man  if  you  can  have 
it,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  above  mentioned  "gentle- 
man." 

I  went  to  him. 

*'  Excuse  me,"  said  I,  "are  you  the  nobleman  who 
runs  this  show  ?  " 

He  frowned. 

"  I  don't  want  to  dine  ;  I  should  like  to  have  a  cup 
of  tea." 

He  frowned  a  little  more,  and  deigned  to  hear  my 
request  to  the  end. 

"  Can  I  ?  "  I  repeated. 

He  spoke  not ;  he  brought  his  eyebrows  still  lower 
down,  and  solemnly  shook  his  head. 

•'Can't  I  really?"  I  continued. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

*'  You  can,"  quoth  he,  "  for  a  dollar." 

And,  taking  the  bill  of  fare  in  his  hands,  without 
wasting  any  more  of  his  precious  utterances,  he  pointed 
out  to  me : 

**  Each  meal  one  dollar." 

The  argument  was  unanswerable. 

I  went  back  to  my  own  car,  resumed  my  seat,  and 
betook  myself  to  reflection. 

What  I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me,  understand  is 
why,  in  a  train  which  has  a  dining  car  and  a  kitchen,  a 
man  cannot  be  served  with  a  cup  of  tea,  unless  he  pays 
the  price  of  a  dinner  for  it,  and  this  notwithstanding 


WELL,    WHAT  DO  YOU  WANT?' 


ir"«rr- 


iriuM 


86 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


%  ' 


II  i 


\k 


the  fact  of  his  having  paid  five  dollars  extra  to  enjoy 
the  extra  luxury  of  this  famous  vestibule  train. 

After  all,  this  is  one  out  of  the  many  illustrations 
one  could  give  to  show  that  whatever  Jonathan  is,  he 
is  not  the  master  in  his  own  house. 

The  Americans  are  the  most  docile  people  in  the 
world.  They  are  the  slaves  of  their  servants,  whether 
these  are  high  officials,  or  the  "  reduced  duchesses  "  of 
domestic  service.  They  are  so  submitted  to  their  lot 
that  they  seem  to  find  it  quite  natural. 

The  Americans  are  lions  governed  by  bull-dogs  and 
asses. 

They  have  given  themselves  a  hundred  thousand 
masters,  these  folks  who  laugh  at  monarchies,  for 
example,  and  scorn  the  rule  of  a  king,  as  if  it  were 
better  to  be  bullied  by  a  crowd  than  by  an  individual. 

In  America,  the  man  who  pays  does  not  command 
the  paid.  I  have  already  said  it ;  I  will  maintain  the 
truth  of  the  statement  that,  in  America,  the  paid  ser- 
vant rules.  Tyranny  from  above  is  bad ;  tyranny  from 
below  is  worse. 

Of  my  many  first  impressions  that  have  deepened  into 
convictions,  this  is  one  of  the  firmest. 

When  you  arrive  at  an  English  railway  station,  all 
the  porters  seem  to  say :  "  Here  is  a  customer,  let  us 
treat  him  well."  And  it  is  who  shall  relieve  you  of 
your  luggage,  or  answer  any  questions  you  may  be 
pleased  to  ask.    They  are  glad  to  see  you. 

In  America,  you  may  have  a  dozen  parcels,  not  a 
hand  will  move  to  help  you  with  them.  So  Jonathan 
is  obliged  to  forego  the  luxury  of  hand  baggage,  so 
convenient  for  long  journeys. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IX  AMERICA. 


87 


When  you  arrive  at  an  American  station,  the  officials 
are  all  frowning  and  seem  to  say:  "Why  the  deuce 


ENGLISH   RAILWAY   STATION. 

don't  you  go  to  Chicago  by  some  other  line  instead  of 
coming  here  to  bother  us?" 

This  subject  reminds  me  of  an  interesting  fact,  told 
me  by  Mr.  Chauncey  M.  Depew  on  board  the  Teutonic. 
When  tram-cars  were  first  used  in  the  States,  it  was  a 
long  time  before  the  drivers  and  conductors  would 


;    .A 
f 

f  ri;i 


If 


nf  ^  r 


'>rii['i-'iBfii(i 


88 


7    FAV:.\'r//A/.1X   IN  AMERICA. 


consent  to   wear  any  kind  of  uni'orni,  so  great  is  the 
horror  of  anytiiing  lii<c    a    badge    of  paid  servitude. 

Now  that  they  do  wear 
some  kind  of  uniform, 
they  spend  their  time 
in  standing  sentry  at 
tlie  door  of  tiieir  dig- 
nity, and  in  thinking 
that,  if  they  were  po- 
lite, you  would  take 
their  affable  manners 
for  servility. 

■  •  •  » 

Everett  House, 

Neiv  York, 

{Midnight) 
So  many  charming 
houses  have  opened 
their  hospitable  doors 
to  me  in  New  York 
/x  that,  when  I  am  in 
this  city,  I  have  soon 
forgotten  the  little  an- 
noyances of  a  railway  journey  or  the  hardships  of  a 
lecture  tour. 

After  dining  here,  I  went  to  spend  the  evening  at 
the  house  of  Mr.  Richard  Watson  Gilder,  the  poet,  and 
editor  of  the  Century  Magazine,  that  most  success- 
ful of  all  magazines  in  the  world.  A  circulation  of 
nearly  300,000  copies — just  think  of  it!  But  it  need 
not  excite  wonder  in  any  one  who  knows  this  beauti- 
ful and  artistic  periodical,  to   which   all   the   leading 


THE   RAILWAY    TORTER, 


^/    J'/iEXC/iMA\   /X  ./.I/AA'/tW. 


89 


littc'rateurs  of  Ainurica  lend  their  pens,  and  the  best 
artists  their  pencils. 

Mrs.  Richard  Watson  Gilder  is  one  of  the  best  and 
most  genial  hostesses  in  New  York.  At  her  I-Mdays, 
one  iTieets  the  cream  of  intellectual  society,  tiie  best 
known  names  of  the  American  aristocracy  of  talent. 

To-tiight  I  met  Mr.  T^ank  R.  Stockton,  the  novel- 
ist, Mr.  Charles  Webb,  the  luimorist,  Mr.  Frank  Mil- 
let, the  painter,  and  his  wife,  ami  a  galaxy  of  celebri- 
ties and  beautiful  women,  all  most  interesting  and 
delightful  people  to  meet.  Conversation  went  on 
briskly  all  over  the  rooms  till  late. 

The  more  I  see  of  the  American  women,  the  more 
confirmed  I  become  in  my  impression  that  they  are 
typical ;  more  so  than  the  men.  They  are  like  no 
other  women  I  know.  The  brilliancy  of  their  conver- 
sation, the  animation  of  their  features,  the  absence 
of  affectation  in  their  manners,  make  them  unique. 
There  are  no  women  to  compare  to  them  in  a  drawing- 
room.  There  are  none  with  whom  I  feel  so  much  at 
ease.  Their  beauty,  physically  speaking,  is  great ; 
but  you  are  still  more  struck  by  their  intellectual 
beauty,  the  frankness  of  their  eyes,  and  the  natural- 
ness of  their  bearing. 

I  returned  to  the  Everett  House,  musing  all  the  way 
on  the  difference  between  the  American  women  and 
the  women  of  France  and  England.  The  theme  was 
attractive,  and,  remembering  that  to-morrow  would  be 
an  off-day  for  me,  I  resolved  to  spend  it  in  going  more 
fully  into  this  fascinating  subject  with  pen  and  ink. 


m 


\\\ 


I 


f  T 


^Jdibi. 


li 


Hi 


m 

Hi;! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Notes  on  American  Women— Comparisons — How 
Men  Treat  Women  and  Vice  Versa— Scenes 
AND  Illustrations. 


New  York,  January  i8. 

A  MAN  was  one  day  complaining  to  a  friend  that 
i'V  he  had  been  married  twenty  years  without  being 
able  to  understand  his  wife.  "You  should  not  com- 
plain of  that,"  remarked  the  friend.  "  I  have  been  mar- 
ried to  my  wife  two  years  only,  and  I  understand  her 
perfectly." 

The  leaders  of  thought  in  France  have  long  ago  pro- 
claimed that  woman  was  the  only  problem  it  was  not 
given  to  man  to  solve.  They  have  all  tried,  and  they 
have  all  failed.  They  all  acknowledge  it — but  they 
are  trying  still. 

Indeed,  the  interest  that  woman  inspires  in  every 
F.'enchman  is  never  exhausted.  Parodying  Terence, 
he  says  to  himself,  "  I  am  a  man,  and  all  that  concerns 
woman  interests  me."  All  the  French  modern  novels 
are  studies,  analytical,  dissecting  studies,  of  woman's 
heart. 

To  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind,  this  may  sometimes  ap- 
pear a  trifle  puerile,  if  not  also  ridiculous.  But  to  un- 
derstand this  feeling,  one  must  remember  how  a 
Frenchman  is  brought  up. 


i 
J 


A  FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


9' 


In  England,  boys  and  girls  meet  and  play  together; 
in  America  and  Canada,  they  sit  side  by  side  on  the 
same  benches  at  school,  not  only  as  children  of  tender 
age,  but  at  College  and  in  the  Universities.  They  get 
accustomed  to  each  other's  company ;  they  see  noth- 
ing strange  in  being  in  contact  with  one  another,  and 
this  naturally  tends  to  reduce  the  interest  or  curiosity 
one  sex  takes  in  the  other.  But  in  France  they  are 
apart,  and  the  ball-room  is  the  only  place  where  they 
can  meet  when  they  have  attained  the  age  of  twenty ! 

Strange  to  reflect  that  young  people  of  both  sexes 
can  meet  in  ball-rooms  without  exciting  their 
parents'  suspicions,  and  that  they  cannot  do  so  in 
class-rooms ! 

When  I  was  a  boy  at  school  in  France,  I  can  well  re- 
member how  we  boys  felt  on  the  subject.  If  we  heard 
that  a  young  girl,  say  the  sister  of  some  school-fellow, 
was  with  her  mother  in  the  common  parlor  to  see  her 
brother,  why,  it  created  a  commotion,  a  perfect  revo- 
lution in  the  whole  establishment.  It  was  no  use  try- 
ing to  keep  us  in  order.  We  would  climb  on  the  top 
of  the  seats  or  of  the  tables  to  endeavor  to  see  some- 
thing of  her,  even  if  it  were  but  the  top  of  her  hat,  or 
a  bit  of  her  gown  across  the  recreation  yard  at  the  very 
end  of  the  building.  It  was  an  event.  Many  of  us 
would  even  immediately  get  inspired  and  compose 
verses  addressed  to  the  unknown  fair  visitor.  In  these 
poetical  effusions  we  would  imagine  the  young  girl 
carried  off  by  some  miscreant,  and  we  would  fly  to  her 
rescue,  save  her,  and  throw  ourselves  at  her  feet  to  re- 
ceive her  hand  as  our  reward.  Yes,  we  would  get  quite 
romantic  or,  in  plain  English,  quite  silly.    We  could 


Vr 


I 


I 

(    i 


r- 


i! 


1 

i 

:'  r 

1 

f'  1' 

i 

• 

\  .1 

i 

n 

1   !' 
i  J 


Ih 


Mi 


99 


.4   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


not  imagine  that  a  woman  was  a  reasoning  being  with 
whom  you  can  talk  on  the  topics  of  the  day,  or  have 
an  ordinary  conversation  on  any  ordinary  subject.  To 
us  a  woman  was  a  being  with  whom  you  can  only  talk 
of  love,  or  fall  in  love,  or,  maybe,  for  whom  you  may 
die  of  love. 

This  manner  of  training  young  men  goes  a  long  way 
toward  explaining  the  position  of  woman  in  France  as 
well  as  her  ways.  It  explains  why  a  Frenchman  and 
a  Frenchwoman,  when  they  converse  together,  seldom 
can  forget  that  one  is  a  man  and  the  other  a  woman. 
It  does  not  prove  that  a  Frenchwoman  must  neces- 
sarily be,  and  is,  affected  in  her  relations  with  men; 
but  it  explains  why  she  does  not  feel,  as  the  American 
woman  does,  that  a  man  and  woman  can  enjoy  a  tite-h- 
tite  free  from  all  those  commonplace  flatteries,  compli- 
ments, and  platitudes  that  badly-understood  gallantry 
suggests.  Many  American  ladies  have  made  me  for- 
get, by  the  easiness  of  their  manner  and  the  charm  and 
naturalness  of  their  conversation,  that  I  was  speak- 
ing with  women,  and  with  lovely  ones,  too.  This  I 
could  never  have  forgotten  in  the  company  of  French 
ladies. 

On  account  of  this  feeling,  and  perhaps  also  of  the 
difference  which  exists  between  the  education  received 
by  a  man  and  that  received  by  a  woman  in  France, 
the  conversation  will  always  be  on  some  light  topics, 
literary,  artistic,  dramatic,  social,  or  other.  Indeed,  it 
would  be  most  unbecoming  for  a  man  to  start  a  very 
serious  subject  of  conversation  with  a  French  lady  to 
whom  he  had  just  been  introduced.  He  would  be 
taken  for  a  pedant  or  a  man  of  bad  breeding. 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


93 


In  America,  men  and  women  receive  practicall)'^ 
the  same  education,  and  this  of  course  enlarges  the 
circle  of  conversation  between  the  sexes.  I  shall 
always  remember  a  beautiful  American  girl,  not  more 
than  twenty  years  of  age,  to  whom  I  was  once  intro- 
duced in  New  York,  as  she  was  giving  to  a  lady  sitting 
next  to  her  a  most  detailed  description  of  the  latest 
bonnet  invented  in  Paris,  and  who,  turning  toward  me, 
asked  me  point-blank  if  I  had  read  M.  Ernest  Renan's 
"  History  of  the  People  of  Israel."  I  had  to  confess 
that  I  had  not  yet  had  time  to  read  it.  But  she  had, 
and  she  gave  me,  without  the  remotest  touch  of  affec- 
tation or  pedantry,  a  most  interesting  and  learned 
analysis  of  that  remarkable  work.  I  related  this  in- 
cident in  "  Jonathan  and  his  Continent."  On  reading 
it,  some  of  my  countrymen,  critics  and  others,  ex- 
claimed :  "  We  imagine  the  fair  American  girl  had  a 
pair  of  gold  spectacles  on." 

"  No,  m.y  dear  compatriots,  nothing  of  the  sort.  No 
gold  spectacles,  no  guy.  It  was  a  beautiful  girl, 
dressed  with  most  exquisite  taste  and  care,  and  most 
charming  and  woman'y." 

An  American  woman,  however  learned  she  may  be, 
is  a  sound  politician,  and  she  knows  ihat  the  best 
thing  she  can  make  of  herself  is  a  woman,  and  she  re- 
mains a  woman.  She  will  always  make  herself  as 
attractive  as  she  possibly  can.  Not  to  please  men — I 
believe  she  has  a  great  contempt  for  them — but  to 
please  herself.  If,  in  a  French  drawing-room,  I  were 
to  remark  to  a  lady  how  clever  some  woman  in  the 
room  looked,  she  would  probably  closely  examine  that 
woman's  dress  to  find  out  wliat  I  thought  was  wrong 


If  jMT  ..^xJBgifegLaa 


rfimM 


mug 


^ 


94 


^   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


about  it.     It  would  probably  be  the  same  in  England, 
but  not  in  America. 

A  Frenchwoman  will  seldom  be  jealous  of  another 
woman's  cleverness.  She  will  far  more  readily  forgive 
her  this  qualification  than  beauty.  And  in  this  par- 
ticular point,  it  is  probable  that  the  Frenchwoman 
resembles  all  the  women  in  the  Old  World. 


B. '  *  • 


Of  all  the  ladies  I  have  met,  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
declaring  that  the  American  ones  are  the  least  affected. 
With  them,  I  repeat  it,  I  feel  at  ease  as  I  do  with  no 
other  women  in  the  world. 

With  whom  but  an  Am^ricaine  would  the  following 
little  scene  have  been  possible  ? 

I  was  in  Boston.  It  was  Friday,  and  knowing  it  to 
be  the  reception  day  of  Mrs.  X.,  an  old  friend  of  mine 
and  my  wife's,  I  thought  I  would  call  upon  her  early, 
before  the  crowd  of  visitors  had  begun  to  arrive.  So  I 
went  to  the  house  about  half-past  three  in  the  after- 
noon. Mrs.  X.  received  me  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
we  were  soon  talking  on  the  hundred  and  one  topics 
that  old  friends  have  on  their  tongue  tips.  Presently 
the  conversation  fell  on  love  and  lovers.  Mrs.  X. 
drew  her  chair  up  a  little  nearer  to  the  fire,  put  the 
toes  of  her  little  slippers  on  the  fender  stool,  and  with 
a  charmingly  confidential,  but  perfectly  natural,  man- 
ner, said: 

"  You  are  married  and  love  your  wife ;  I  am  married 
and  love  my  husband ;  we  are  both  artists,  let's  have 
our  say  out." 

And  we  proceeded  to  have  our  say  out. 

But  all  at  once  I  noticed  that  about  half  an  inch  of  the 


m 


A  FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


95 


seam  of  her  black  silk  bodice  was  unsewn.  We  men, 
when  we  see  a  lady  with  something  awry  in  her  toi- 
lette, how  often  do  we  long  to  say  to  her:  "  Excuse 
me,  madam,  u  perhaps  you  don't  know  that  you 
have  a  hairpin  sticking  out  two  inches  just  behind 
your  ear,"  or  "  Pardon  me,  Miss,  I'm  a  married  man, 
there  is  something  wrong  there  behind,  just  under 
your  waist  belt." 

Now  I  felt  for  Mrs.  X.,  who  was  just  going  to  receive 
a  crowd  of  callers  with  a  little  rent  in  one  of  her  bodice 
seams,  and  tried  to  persuade  myself  to  be  brave  and 
tell  her  of  it.  Yet  I  hesitated.  People  take  things  so 
differently.  The  conversation  went  on  unflagging. 
At  last  I  could  not  stand  it  any  longer. 

"  Mrs.  X.,"  said  I,  all  in  a  breath,  "you  are  married 
and  love  your  husband  ;  I  am  married  and  love  my 
wife;  we  are  both  artists  ;  there  is  a  little  bit  of  seam 
come  unsewn,  just  there  by  your  arm,  run  and  get  it 
sewn  up!  " 

The  peals  of  laughter  that  I  heard  going  on  up- 
stairs, while  the  damage  was  being  repaired,  proved 
to  me  that  there  was  no  resentment  to  be  feared,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  that  I  had  earned  the  gratitude  of 
Mrs.  X. 


ii! 


In  many  respects  I  have  often  been  struck  with  the 
resemblance  which  exists  between  French  and  Ameri- 
can women.  When  I  took  my  first  walk  on  Broadway, 
New  York,  on  a  fine  afternoon  some  two  years  and 
a  half  ago,  I  can  well  remember  how  I  exclaimed  : 
"  Why,  this  is  Paris,  and  all  these  ladies  are  Parisi- 
ennes  !  '*     It  struck  me  as  being  the  same  type  of  face, 


96 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


1     I 


f^i  . 


I'M 


s 


''-Vx 


I    1 


the  same  animation  of  features,  the  same  brightness  of 
the  eyes,  the  same  self-assurance,  tlie  same  attractive 
plumpness  in  women  over  thirty.  To  my  mind,  I  was 
having  a  walk  on  my  own  Boulevards  (every  Parisian 
owns  that  place).  The  more  I  became  acquainted  with 
American  ladies,  the  more  forcibly  this  resemblance 
struck  me.  This  was  not  a  mere  first  impression.  It 
has  been,  and  is  still,  a  deep  conviction  ;  so  much  so 
that  whenever  I  returned  to  New  York  from  a  journey 
of  some  weeks  in  the  heart  of  the  country,  I  felt  as  if 
I  was  returning  home. 

After  a  short  time,  a  still  closer  resemblance  between 
the  women  of  the  two  countries  will  strike  a  French- 
man most  forcibly.  It  is  the  same  finesse,  the  same 
suppleness  of  mind,  the  same  wonderful  adaptability. 
Place  a  little  French  milliner  in  a  good  drawing-room 
for  an  hour,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  she  will  be- 
have, talk,  and  walk  like  any  lady  in  the  room.  Sup- 
pose an  American,  married  below  his  status  in  society, 
is  elected  President  of  the  United  States,  I  believe,  at 
the  end  of  a  week,  this  wife  of  his  would  do  the  honors 
of  the  White  House  with  the  ease  and  grace  of  a  high- 
born lady. 

In  England  it  is  just  the  contrary. 

Of  course  good  society  is  good  society  everywhere. 
The  ladies  of  the  English  aristocracy  are  perfect 
queens  ;  but  the  Englishwoman,  who  was  not  born  a 
lady,  will  seldom  become  a  lady,  and  I  believe  this  is 
why  mesalliances  are  more  scarce  in  England  than  in 
America,  and  especially  in  France.  I  could  name 
many  Englishmen  at  the  head  of  their  professions, 
who  cannot  produce  their  wives  in  society  because 


J    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


97 


these  worp'^r!  have  not  been  able  tc  raise  themselves  to 
the  level  of  their  husbands'  station  in  life.  The 
Englishwoman,  as  a  rule,  lias  no  faculty  for  fitting  her- 
self for  a  higher  position  than  the  one  she  was  born 
in  ;  like  a  rabbit,  she  will  often  taste  of  the  cabbage 
she  fed  on.  And  I  am  bound  to  add  that  this  is  per- 
haps a  quality,  and  proves  the  truthfulness  of  her 
character.     She  is  no  actress. 

In  France,  the  mhalliance,  though  not  relished  by 
parents,  is  not  feared  so  much,  because  they  know  the 
young  woman  will  observe  and  study,  and  very  soon 
fit  herself  for  her  new  position. 

And  while  on  this  subject  of  mesalliance,  why  not 
try  to  destroy  an  absurd  prejudice  that  exists  in  almost 
every  country  on  the  subject  of  France? 

It  is,  I  believe,  the  firm  conviction  of  foreigners  that 
Frenchmen  marry  for  money,  that  is  to  say,  that  all 
Frenchmen  marry  for  money.  As  a  rule,  when  people 
discuss  foreign  social  topics,  they  have  a  wonderful 
faculty  for  generalization. 

The  fact  that  many  Frenchman  do  marry  for  mon  jy 
is  not  to  be  denied,  and  the  explanation  of  it  is  this  : 
We  hnve  in  France  a  number  of  men  belonging  to  a 
class  almost  unknown  in  other  countries,  small  bour- 
geois of  good  breeding  and  genteel  habits,  but  rela- 
tively poor,  who  occupy  posts  in  the  different  Govern- 
ment offices.  Their  name  is  legion  and  their  salary 
something  like  two  thousand  francs  ($400).  These  men 
have  an  appearance  to  keep  up,  and,  unless  a  wife 
brings  them  enough  to  at  least  double  their  income, 
they  cannot  marry.  These  young  men  are  often  sought 
after  by  well-to-do  parents  for  their  daughters,  because 


98 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


■i   1 


;;i  • 


they  are  steady,  cultured,  gentlemanly,  and  occupy  an 
honorable  position,  which  brings  them  a  pension  for 
their  old  age.  With  the  wife's  dowry,  the  couple  can 
easily  get  along,  and  lead  a  peaceful,  uneventful,  and 
happy  jog-trot  life,  which  is  the  great  aim  of  the 
majority  of  the  French  people. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  country  where 
you  will  see  so  many  cases  of  mesalliance  as  France,  and 
this  alone  should  dispose  of  the  belief  that  Frenchmen 
marry  for  money.  Indeed,  it  is  a  most  common  thing 
for  a  young  Frenchman  of  good  family  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  girl  of  a  much  lower  station  of  life  than  his  own, 
to  court  her,  at  first  with  perhaps  only  the  idea  of  kill- 
ing time  or  of  starting  a  liaison^  to  soon  discover  that 
the  girl  is  highly  respectable,  and  to  finally  marry  her. 
This  is  a  most  common  occurrence.  French  parents 
frown  on  this  sort  of  thing,  and  do  their  best  to  dis- 
courage it,  of  course  ;  but  rather  than  cross  their  son's 
love,  they  give  their  consent,  and  trust  to  that  adapt- 
ability of  Frenchwomen,  jf  which  I  was  speaking  just 
now,  to  raise  herself  to  her  husband's  level  and  make  a 
wife  he  will  never  be  ashamed  of. 


The  Frenchman  is  the  slave  of  his  womankind,  but 
not  in  the  same  way  as  the  American  is.  The  French- 
man is  brought  up  by  his  mother,  and  remains  under 
her  sway  till  she  dies.  When  he  marries,  his  wife 
leads  him  by  the  nose  (an  operation  which  he  seems  to 
enjoy),  and  when,  besides,  he  has  a  daughter,  on  whom 
he  generally  dotes,  this  lady  soon  joins  the  other  two 
in  ruling  this  easy-going,  good-humored  man.  As  a 
rule,  when  you  see  a  Frenchman,  you  behold  a  man 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


99 


who  is  kept  in  order  by  three  generations  of  women : 
mother,  wife,  and  daughter. 

The  American  will  lavish  attention  and  luxury  on 
his  wife  and  daughters,  but  he  will  save  them  the 
trouble  of  being  mixed  in  his  affairs.  His  business  is 
his,  his  office  is  private.  His  womankind  is  the  sun 
and  glory  of  his  life,  whose  company  he  will  hasten  to 
enjoy  as  soon  as  he  can  throw  away  the  cares  of  his 
business.  In  France,  a  wife  is  a  partner,  a  cashier  who 
takes  care  ot  the  money,  even  an  adviser  on  stock  and 
speculations.  In  the  mercantile  class,  she  is  both 
cashier  and  bookkeeper.  Enter  a  shop  in  France, 
Paris  Micluded,  and  behind  "  Pay  Here,"  you  will  see 
Madame,  smiling  all  over  as  she  pockets  the  money 
for  the  purchase  you  have  made.  When  I  said  she 
is  a  partner,  I  might  safely  have  said  that  she  is  the 
active  partner,  and,  as  a  rule,  by  far  the  shrewder  of 
the  two.  She  brings  to  bear  her  native  suppleness, 
her  fascinating  little  ways,  her  persuasive  manners,  and 
many  a  customer  whom  her  husband  was  allowing  to  go 
away  without  a  purchase,  has  been  brought  back  by  the 
wife,  and  induced  to  part  with  his  cash  in  the  shop. 
Last  year  I  went  to  Paris,  on  my  way  home  from  Ger- 
many, to  spend  a  few  days  visiting  the  Exposition. 
One  day  I  entered  a  shop  on  the  Boulevards  to  buy  a 
white  hat.  The  new-fashioned  hats,  the  only  hats 
which  the  man  showed  me,  were  narrow-brimmed,  and 
I  declined  to  buy  one.  I  was  just  going  to  leave, 
when  the  wife,  who,  from  the  back  parlor,  had  listened 
to  my  conversation  with  her  husband,  stepped  in  and 
said :  "  But,  Adolphe,  why  do  you  let  Monsieur  go  ? 
Perhaps  he  does  not  care  to  follow  the  fashion.    We 


lOO 


A   FRENCHMAN  LV  AMERICA. 


1, 1 


%  % 


f 


have  a  few  white  broad-brimmed  hats  left  from  last 
year  that  we  can  let  Monsieur  have  h  bon  compte. 
They  are   upstairs,  go  and   fetch  them."      And,   sure 


MADAM   IS   THE   CASHIER. 


enough,  there  was  one  which  fitted  md  pleased  me,  and 
I  left  in  that  shop  a  little  sum  of  twenty-five  francs, 
which  the  husband  was  going  to  let  me  take  elsewhere, 
but  which  the  wife  managed  to  secure  for  the  firm. 


J    /'■KI-:NCI/AfAX  IN  AMERICA. 


lOI 


No  one  who  lias  lived  in  France  has  failed  to  be 
struck  with  the  intelligence  of  the  women,  and  there 
exist  few  Frenchmeti  who  do  not  readily  admit  how  in- 
tellectually inferior  they  are  to  their  countrjwomcn, 
chiefly  among  the  middle  and  lower  classes.  And  this 
is  not  due  to  any  special  training,  for  the  education  re- 
ceived by  the  women  of  that  class  is  of  the  most  limit- 
ed kind  ;  they  arc  taught  to  read,  write,  and  reckon, 
and  their  education  is  finished.  -Shrewdness  is  inborn 
in  them,  as  well  as  a  peculiar  talent  for  getting  a  hun- 
dred cents'  worth  for  every  dollar  they  spend.  How  to 
make  a  house  look  pretty  and  attractive  with  small  out- 
lay ;  how  to  make  a  dress  or  turn  out  a  bonnet  with  a 
few  knick-knacks ;  how  to  make  a  savorj:  dish  out  of  a 
small  remnant  of  beef,  mutton,  and  ve?l ;  all  that  is  a 
science  not  to  be  despised  when  a  husband,  in  receipt 
of  a  four  or  five  hundred  dollar  salary,  wants  to  make  a 
good  dinner,  and  sec  his  wife  look  pretty.  No  doubt 
the  aristocratic  inhabitatits  of  Mayfair  and  Belgravia  in 
London,  and  the  plutocracy  of  New  York,  may  think 
all  this  very  small,  and  these  French  people  very  unin- 
teresting. They  can,  perhaps,  hardly  imagine  that  such 
people  may  1'  :  on  such  incomes  and  lool\  decent.  But 
they  do  live,  and  live  very  happy  lives,  too.  And  I 
will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  happiness,  real  happiness, 
is  chiefly  found  among  people  of  limited  income.  The 
husband,  who  perhaps  for  a  whole  year  has  put  quietly 
by  a  dollar  every  week,  so  as  to  be  able  to  give  his 
dear  wife  a  nice  present  at  Christmas,  gives  her  a  far 
more  valuable,  a  far  better  appreciated  present,  than 
the  millionaire  who  orders  Tiffany  to  send  a  diamond 
riviere  to  his  wife.     That  quiet  young  French  couple, 


loa 


A  /•'A'/:nc//a/.lv  rx  America. 


i  ■■  ! 


f 


whom  you  see  at  the  upper  circle  of  a  theater,  and  who 
have  saved  the  money  to  enable  them  to  come  and  hear 
such  and  such  a  play,  are  happier  than  the  occupants 

^j^  of  the  boxes  on 

the  first  tier.  If 
you  doubt  it, 
take  your  opera 
glasses,  and 
"  look  on  this 
picture,  and  on 
this." 

In  observing 
nations,  I  have 
always  taken 
more  interest  in 
the  "million," 
who  difTer  in 
every  country,  than  in  the  "  upper  ten,"  who  are  alike 
all  over  the  world.  People  who  have  plenty  of  money 
at  their  disposal  generally  discover  the  same  way  of 
spending  it,  and  adopt  the  same  mode  of  living. 
People  who  have  only  a  small  income  show  their 
native  instincts  in  the  intelligent  use  of  it.  All  these 
differ,  and  these  only  are  worth  studying,  unless  you 
belong  to  the  staff  of  a  "society"  paper.  (As  a 
Frenchman,  I  am  glad  to  say  we  have  no  "society" 
papers.  England  and  America  are  the  only  two 
countries  in  the  world  where  these  official  organs  of 
Anglo-Saxon  snobbery  can  be  found,  and  I  should  not 
be  surprised  to  hear  that  Australia  possessed  some  of 
these  already.) 


THE   UPPER   CIRCLE. 


A  FA•f■:xc//^rAN  in  amehica. 


"53 


The  source  of  French  happiness  is  to  be  found  in 
the  tlirift  of  tlie  women,  from  tlic  best  middle  class  to 
the  peasantry.  This  thrift  isalso  the  source  of  Frencli 
wealth.  A  nation  is  really  wealthy  when  the  fortunes 
are  stable,  however  small.     We  have  no  railway  kin^s, 


THE   SAD-EYED  OCCUPANTS   OF   THE   BOX. 

no  oil  kings,  no  silver  kings,  but  we  have  no  tenement 
houses,  no  Unions,  no  Work-houses.  Our  lower  classes 
do  not  yet  ape  the  upper  class  people,  either  in  their 
habits  or  dress.  The  wife  of  a  peasant  or  of  a  mechanic 
wears  a  simple  snowy  cap,  and  a  serge  or  cotton  dress. 


m^-'. 


^wm 


104 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


'11 


The  wife  of  a  shopkeeper  does  not  wear  any  jewelry 
because  she  cannot  afford  to  buy  real  stones,  and  her 
taste  is  too  good  to  allow  of  her  wearing  false  ones. 
She  is  not  ashamed  of  her  husband's  occupation  ;  she 
does  not  play  the  fine  lady  while  he  is  at  work.  She 
saves  him  the  expense  of  a  cashier  or  of  an  extra  clerk 
by  helping  him  in  his  business.  When  the  shutters 
are  up,  she  enjoys  life  with  him,  and  is  the  companion 
of  his  pleasures  as  well  as  of  his  hardships.  Club  life 
is  unknown  in  France,  except  among  the  upper  classes. 
Man  and  wife  are  constantly  together,  and  France  is  a 
nation  of  Darbys  and  Joans.  There  is,  I  believe,  no 
country  where  men  and  women  go  through  life  on  such 
equal  terms  as  in  France. 


iff 


In  England  (and  here  again  I  speak  of  the  masses 
only),  the  man  thinks  himself  a  mi'ch  superior  being  to 
the  woman.  It  is  the  same  in  Germany.  In  America, 
I  should  ieel  inclined  to  believe  that  a  woman  looks 
down  upon  a  man  with  a  certain  amount  of  contempt. 
She  receives  at  his  hands  attentions  of  all  sorts,  but  I 
cannot  say,  as  I  have  remarked  before,  that  I  have  ever 
discovered  in  her  the  slightest  trace  of  gratitude  to 
man. 

I  have  often  tried  to  explain  to  myself  this  gentle 
contempt  of  American  ladies  for  the  male  sex;  for,  con- 
trasting it  with  the  lovely  devotion  of  Jonathan  to  his 
womankind,  it  is  a  curious  enigma.  Have  I  found  the 
solution  at  last?  Does  it  begin  at  school?  In  Ameri- 
can schools,  boys  and  girls,  from  the  age  of  five,  follow 
the  same  path  to  learning,  and  sit  side  by  side  on  the 
same  benches.     Moreover,  the  girls  prove  themselves 


i 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  ,05 

capable  of  keeping  pace  with  the  boys.    Is  it  not  pos 
s.ble  that  those    girls,  as  they  watched  the  perfo™. 

hat  a  1?  While  the  younglords  of  creation,  as  they 
.ave  ooked  on  at  what  "those  girls"  can  do,  have 
been  fa,n  to  exclaim:  "Who  would  have  thought  it!" 
And  does  not  this  explain  the  two  attitude.:  the  great 
respect  of  men  for  women,  and  the  mild  contempt  of 
women  tor  men?  ^ 

about,  I  would  go  up  Broadway  and  wait  until  a  car, 
.veil  crammed  w.th  people,  ca.ne  along.  Then  I  would 
jump  on  board  and  stand  near  the  door.  Whenever  a 
man  wanted  to  get  out,  he  would  say  to  me  "  Please," 

that  llZr"'  V '^"'  '°"'"  '"^  "2'>"y  to  *--  me 
that  I  stood  m  his  way.     But  the  women  !     Oh,  the 

women  !  why,  it  was  simply  lovely.  They  would  just 
push  me  away  with  the  tips  of  their  fingers,  and  turn 
"Psuch  disgusted  and  haughty  noses!  You  would 
have  imagined  it  was  a  heap  of  dirty  rubbish  in  their 
way. 


:|iS 


Would  you  have  a  fair  illustration  of  the  respective 
Ame^aV    ""'"''"  '"  ^""^'^'   '"   ^"^'-'''  '""^  '" 

thf  dVnrgirom. '"'  "^'^"  '"^  ^^"■^^'  °'  -"p-  ■•" 

Now  don't  go  to  the  Louvre,  the  Grand  Hotel  or 
the  Bristol,  m  Paris.  Don't  go  to  the  Savoy  he 
Victoria,  or  the  Metropole,  in  London.  Don't  go  to 
the  Brunswick,  in  New  York,  because  in  all  these  hotels 


io6 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


you  will  see  that  all  behave  alike.     Go  elsewhere  and, 
I  say,  watch. 

In  France,  you  will  see  the  couples  arrive  together, 
walk  abreast  toward  the  table  assigned  to  them,  very 


IN    FRANCE. 


often  arm  in  arm,  and  smiling  at  each  other — though 
married. 

In  England,  you  will  see  John  Bull  leading  the  way. 
He  does  not  like  to  be  seen  eating  in  public,  and 
thinks  it  very  hard  that  he  should  not  have  the  dining- 


^l!  1! 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


107 


room  all  to  himself.     So  he  enters,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  looking  askance  at  everybody  right  and 


IN   ENGLAND 


left.     Then,  meek  and  demure,  with  her  eyes  cast  down, 
follows  Mrs.  John  Bull. 

In  America,  behold  the  dignified,  nay,  the  majestic 
entry  of  Mrs.  Jonathan,  a  perfect  queen  going  toward 
her  throne,  bestowing  a  glance  on  her  subjects  right 
and  left— and  Jonathan  behind  ! 


,^! 


u 


I& 


li ,  ■ 


fl^p 


U     ,i 


1  III 

]:! 

i- 
i 

li 

( 

'  i' 

■  i-' 

H 

■ 

ili. 

IN  AMERICA. 


^ 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  4 09 

They  say  in  France  that  Paris  is  the  paradise  of 
women.  If  so,  there  is  a  more  blissful  place  than 
paradise;  there  is  another  word  to  invent  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  social  position  enjoyed  by  American  ladies. 

If  I  had  to  be  born  a  ;ain,  and  might  choose  my  sex 
and  my  birthplace,  I  would  shout  at  the  top  of  my 
voice : 

"  Oh,  make  me  an  American  woman  !  " 


mi 


Hilr^'i'^ 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

More  about  Journalism  in  America — A  Dinner 
AT  Delmonico's— My  First  Appearance  in  an 
American  Church. 


Ne2u  York,  Sunday  Nighty  January  19. 

HAVE  been  spending  the  whole  day  in  reading 
the  Sunday  papers. 

I  am  never  tired  of  reading  and  studying  the  Ameri- 
can newspapers.  The  whole  character  of  the  nation 
is  there  :  Spirit  of  enterprise,  liveliness,  childishness, 
inquisitiveness,  deep  interest  in  everything  that  is 
human,  fun  and  humor,  indiscretion,  love  of  gossip, 
brightness. 

Speak  of  electric  light,  of  phonographs  and  grapho- 
phones,  if  you  like ;  speak  of  those  thousand  and  one 
inventions  which  have  come  out  of  the  American 
brain  ;  but  if  you  wish  to  mention  the  greatest  and 
most  wonderful  achievement  of  American  activity, 
do  not  hesitate  for  a  moment  to  give  the  palm  to 
American  journalism  ;  it  is  simply  the  ne plus  ultra. 

You  will  find  some  people,  even  in  America,  who 
condemn  its  loud  tone ;  others  who  object  to  its  med- 
dling with  private  life  ;  others,  again,  who  have  some- 
thing to  say  of  its  contempt  for  statements  which  are 
not  in  perfect  accordance  with  strict  truth.  I  even 
believe  that  a  French  writer,  whom  I  do  not  wish  to 


I  'A 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


Ill 


name,  once  said  that  very  few  statements  to  be  found 
in  an  American  paper  were  to  be  relied  upon — beyond 
the  date.  People  may  say  this  and  may  say  that 
about  American  journalism  ;  I  confess  that  I  like  it, 
simply  because  it  will  supply  you  with  twelve — on 
Sundays  with  thirty — pages  that  are  readable  from 
the  first  line  to  the  last.  Yes,  from  the  first  line  to 
the  last,  including  the  advertisements. 

The  American  journalist  may  be  a  man  of  letters, 
but,  above  all,  he  must  possess  a  bright  and  graphic 
pen,  and  his  services  are  not  wanted  if  he  cannot  write 
a  racy  article  or  paragraph  out  of  the  most  trifling  in- 
cident. He  must  relate  facts,  if  he  can,  but  if  he  can- 
not, so  much  the  worse  for  the  facts ;  he  must  be 
entertaining  and  turn  out  something  that  is  readable. 

Suppose,  for  example,  a  reporter  has  to  send  to  his 
paper  the  account  of  a  police-court  proceeding.  There 
is  nothing  more  important  to  bring  to  the  office  than 
the  case  of  a  servant  girl  who  has  robbed  her  mistress 
of  a  pair  of  diamond  earrings.  The  English  reporter 
will  bring  to  his  editor  something  in  the  following 
style: 

Mary  Jane  So-and-So  was  yesterday  charged  before  the  magis- 
trate with  stealing  a  pair  of  diamond  earrings  from  her  mistress. 
It  appears  [always  //  appears,  that  is  the  formula]  that,  last  Mon- 
day, as  Mrs.  X.  went  to  her  room  to  dress  for  dinner,  she  missed  a 
pair  of  diamond  earrings,  which  she  usually  kept  in  a  little  drawer 
in  her  bedroom.  On  questioning  her  maid  on  the  subject,  she  re- 
ceived incoherent  answers.  Suspicion  that  the  maid  was  the  thief 
arose  in  her  mind,  and 

A  long  paragraph  in  this  dry  style  will  be  published 
jn  the  TimeSy  or  any  other  London  morning  paper. 


I 


mm 


i 


f 


¥ 


112 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


Now,  the  American  reporter  will  be  required  to 
bring  something  a  little  more  entertaining  if  he  hopes 
to  be  worth  his  salt  on  the  staff  of  his  paper,  and  he 
will  probably  get  up  an  account  of  the  case  somewhat 
in  the  following  fashion  : 

Mary  Jane  So-and-so  is  a  pretty  little  brunette  of  some  twenty 
summers.  On  looking  in  the  glass  at  her  dainty  little  ears,  she 
fancied  how  lovely  a  pair  of  diamond  earrings  would  look  in  them. 
So  one  day  she  thought  she  would  try  on  those  of  her  mistress. 
How  lovely  she  looked  !  said  the  looking-glass,  and  the  Mephi- 
stopheles  that  is  hidden  in  the  corner  of  every  man  or  woman's 
breast  suggested  that  she  should  keep  them.  This  is  how  Mary 
Jane  found  herself  in  trouble,  etc.,  etc. 

The  whole  will  read  like  a  little  story,  probably  en- 
titled something  like  "  Another  Gretchen  gone  wrong 
through  the  love  of  jewels." 

The  heading  has  to  be  thought  of  no  l?s£  than  the 
paragraph.  Not  a  line  is  to  be  dull  in  a  paper  spark- 
ling all  over  with  eye-ticklers  of  all  sorts.  Oh  !  those 
delicious  headings  that  would  resuscitate  the  dead,  and 
make  them  sit  up  in  their  graves ! 

A  Tennessee  paper  which  I  have  now  under  my  eyes 
announces  the  death  of  a  townsman  with  the  following 
heading  : 

"  At  ten  o'clock  last  night  Joseph  W.  Nelson  put  on 
his  angel  plumage." 

•  *  ■*.  *         '         • 

**  Racy,  catching  advertisements  supplied  to  the 
trade,"  such  is  the  announcement  that  I  see  in  the 
same  paper.  I  understand  the  origin  of  such  literary 
productions  as  the  following,  which  I  cull  from  a  Colo- 
rado sheet : 


.7   FREXCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


J»3 


This  morning  our  Saviour  summoned  away  the  jeweler  William 
T.  Sumner,  of  our  city,  from  iiis  shop  to  another  and  a  bt-tler 
world.  The  undersigned,  his  widow,  will  weep  upon  his  tomb,  as 
will  also  his  two  daughters,  Maud  and  Emma,  the  former  of  whom 
is  married,  and  the  other  is  open  to  an  offer.  The  funeral  will 
take  place  to-morrow.  Signed.  His  disconsolate  widow,  Mathilda 
Sumner. 

P.  S. — This  bereavement  will  not  interrupt  our  business,  which 
will  be  carried  on  as  usual,  only  our  place  of  business  will  be  re- 
moved from  Washington  Street  to  No.  \^  St.  Paul  Street,  as  our 
grasping  landlord  has  raised  our  rent. — M.  S. 

The  following  advertisement  probably  enfianates 
from  the  same  firm  : 

Personal  — His  Love  Suddenly  RETURNED.—Recently 
they  had  not  been  on  the  best  of  terms,  owing  to  a  little  family  jar 
occasioned  by  the  wife  insisting  on  being  allowed  to  renovate  his 
wearing  apparel,  and  which,  of  course,  was  done  in  a  bungling 
manner;  in  order  to  prevent  the  trouble,  they  agreed  to  send  all 
their  work  hereafter  toD.,  the  tailor,  and  now  everything  is  lovely, 
and  peace  and  happiness-again  reign  in  their  household. 

All  this  is  lively.  Never  fail  to  read  the  advertise- 
ments of  an  American  paper,  or  you  will  not  have  got 
out  of  it  all  the  fun  it  supplies. 

Here  are  a  few  from  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer^  which 
tell  different  stories: 

I.  The  young  Madame  J.  C.  Antonia,  just  arrived  from 
Europe,  will  remain  a  short  time ;  tells  past,  present,  and  future  ; 
tells  by  the  letters  in  hand  who  the  future  husband  or  wife  will  be; 
brings  back  the  husband  or  lover  in  so  many  days,  and  guarantees 
to  settle  family  troubles  ;  can  give  good  luck  and  success;  ladies 
call  at  once;  also  cures  corns  and  bunions.  Hours  lo  A.  M.  and 
9  P.  M. 

"  Also  cures  corns  and  bunions  "  is  a  poem  ! 


w 


i 


'11 


I     'l  i 


XI4 


/f    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


2.  The  acquaintance  desired  of  lady  passing  along  Twelfth 
Street  at  three  o'clock  Sunday  afternoon,  by  blond  gent  standing 
at  corner.     Address  Lou  K.,  48,  Enquirer  Office. 

3.  Will  the  three  ladies  that  got  on  the  electric  car  at  the  Zoo 
Sunday  afternoon  favor  three  gents  that  got  off  at  Court  and  Wal- 
nut Streets  with  their  address  }  Address  Electric  Car,  En- 
quirer Office. 

4.  Will  (wo  ladies  on  Clark  Street  car,  that  noticed  two  gents 
in  front  of  Grand  Opera  House  about  seven  last  evening,  please 
address  Jands,  Enquirer  Office. 


A  shoit  time  ago  a  man  named  Smith  was  bitten  by 
a  rattlesnake  and  treated  with  whisky  at  a  New  York 
hospital.  An  English  paper  would  have  just  men- 
tioned the  fact,  and  have  the  paragraph  headed  :  "  A 
Remarkable  Cure";  or,  "  A  Man  Cured  of  a  Rattle- 
snake Bite  by  Whisky "  ;  but  a  kind  correspondent 
sends  me  the  headings  of  this  bit  of  intelligence  in  five 
New  York  papers.     They  are  as  follows : 

1.  "Smith  Is  All  Right!" 

2.  "  Whisky  Does  It !  " 

3.  "The  Snake  Routed  at  all  Points!" 

4.  "  The  Reptile  is  Nowhere  !  " 

5.  "  Drunk  for  Three  Days  and  Cured." 

Let  a  batch  of  officials  be  dismissed.  Do  not  sup- 
pose that  an  American  editor  will  accept  the  news 
with  such  a  heading  as  "  Dismissal  of  Officials."  The 
reporter  will  have  to  bring  some  label  that  will  fetch 
the  attention.  "  Massacre  at  the  Custom  House,"  or, 
"  So  Many  Heads  in  the  Basket,"  will  do.  Now,  I 
maintain  that  it  requires  a  wonderful  imagination — 
something   little  short  of  genius,  to  be  able,  day  after 


A   FRENCH.\fAN  hV  AMERICA.  1,5 

day,  to  hit  on  a  hundred  of  such  headings.     Rut  the 
American  journalist  does  it. 

An  American  paper  is  a  collection  of  short  stories. 
Ihe  Siniday  edition  of  the  New  York  World,  the 
New  York   Herald^  tlie   Boston   Herald,   the    Boston 


SMITH   CURED  OF   RATTLESNAKE  BITE. 

Globe,  the  Chicago  Tribune,  the  Chicago  Herald,  and 
many  others,  ,s  something  like  ten  volumes  of  miscel- 
laneous  htetature.  and  I  -o  not  know  of  any  achieve, 
ment  to  be  compared  to  it. 

I    cannot    do    better   than    compare    an   American 

fr,r K  ?  !    ^'■^'  '""■"'  *'■""  ""^  eoods,  the  articles, 
are  labeled  so  as  to  immediately  strike  the  customer 


;  1 


Ii6 


//    FKEXC//A/AN  AV  AMEKICA, 


III 


I 


Hi 


m 


A  few  days  ago,  I  heard  my  friend,  Colonel  Charles 
H.  Taylor,  editor  of  the  Boston  Globe,  give  an  inter- 
esting summary  of  an  address  on  journalism  which  he 
is  to  deliver  next  Saturday  before  the  members  of  the 
New  England  Club  of  Boston.  He  maintained  that  the 
proprietor  of  a  newspaper  has  as  much  right  to  make 
his  shop-window  attractive  to  the  public  as  any  trades- 
man. If  the  colonel  is  of  opinion  that  journalism 
is  a  trade,  and  the  journalist  a  mere  tradesman,  I  agree 
with  him.  If  journalism  is  not  to  rank  among  the 
highest  and  noblest  of  professions,  and  is  to  be  noth- 
ing more  than  a  commercial  enterprise,  I  agree  with 
him. 

Now,  if  we  study  the  evolution  of  journalism  for  the 
last  forty  or  fifty  years,  we  shall  see  that  daily  journal- 
ism, especially  in  a  democracy,  has  become  a  commer- 
cial enterprise,  and  that  journalism,  as  it  was  understood 
forty  years  ago,  has  become  to-day  monthly  journalism. 
The  dailies  have  now  no  other  object  than  to  give  the 
news — the  latest — just  as  a  tradesman  that  would  suc- 
ceed must  give  you  the  latest  fashion  in  any  kind  of 
business.  The  people  of  a  democracy  like  America  are 
educated  in  politics.  They  think  for  themselves,  and 
care  but  little  for  the  opinions  of  such  and  such  a  jour- 
nalist on  any  question  of  public  interest.  They  want 
news,  not  literary  essays  on  news.  When  I  hear  some 
Am.ericar-s  say  that  they  object  to  their  daily  journal- 
ism, I  answer  that  journalists  are  like  other  people  who 
supply  the  public — they  keep  the  article  that  ir 
wanted. 

A  free  country  possesses  the  government  it  deserves, 
and   the  journalism   it  wants.     A  people  active  and 


^/  rKi:xc//MAX  liV  am/ikic.l 


"7 


busy  as  the  Americans  arc,  want  a  journalism  tliatwill 
keep  their  interest  awake  and  amuse  them  ;  ami  they 
naturally  get  it.  The  average  American,  for  example, 
cares  not  a  pin  for  what  his  representatives  say  or 
do  in  Washington  ;  but  he  likes  to  be  acquainted  with 
what  is  going  on  in  Europe,  and  that  is  why  the 
American  journalist  will  give  him  a  far  more  detailed 
account  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  Palace  at  West- 
minster than  of  what  is  being  said  in  the  Capitol. 

In  France,  journalism  is  personal.  On  any  great 
question  of  the  day,  domestic  or  foreign,  the  I'rench- 
man  will  want  to  read  the  opinion  of  John  Lemoinne 
in  i\\c  Jourftal  dvs  Dt'batSy  or  the  opinion  of  Edouard 
Lockroy  in  the  Rappd,  or  maybe  that  of  Paul  de 
Cassaguac  or  Henri  Rochefort.  Every  Frenchman  is 
more  or  less  led  by  the  editor  of  the  newspaper  which 
he  patronizes.  But  the  Frenchman  is  only  a  democrat 
in  name  and  aspirations,  not  in  fact.  France  made 
the  mistake  of  establishing  a  republic  before  she  made 
republicans  of  her  sons.  A  French  journalist  signs 
his  articles,  and  is  a  leader  of  public  opinion,  so  much 
so  that  every  successful  journalist  in  France  has  been, 
is  now,  and  ever  will  be,  elected  a  representative  of 
the  people, 

In  America,  as  in  England,  the  journalist  has  no 
personality  outside  the  literary  classes.  Who,  among 
the  masses,  knows  the  names  of  Bennett,  Dana,  White- 
law  Reid,  Medill,  Childs,  in  the  United  States?  Who, 
in  England,  knows  the  names  of  Lawson,  Mudford, 
Robinson,  and  other  editors  of  the  great  dailies?  If 
it  had  not  been  for  his  trial  and  imprisonment,  Mr.  W. 
T.  Stead  himself,  though   a  most  brilliant  journalist, 


(t!^ 


w 


W'l    i 


!'^ 


Ii8 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


would  never  have  seen  his  name  on  anybody's 
lips. 

A  leading  article  in  an  American  or  an  English 
newspaper  will  attract  no  notice  at  home.  It  will 
only  be  quoted  on  the  European  Continent. 

It  is  the  monthly  and  the  weekly  papers  and  maga- 
zines that  now  play  the  part  of  the  dailies  of  bygone 
days.  An  article  in  the  Spectator  or  Saturday  Review, 
or  especially  in  one  of  the  great  monthly  magazines, 
will  be  quoted  all  over  the  land,  and  I  believe  that 
this  relatively  new  journalism,  which  is  read  only  by 
the  cultured,  has  now  for  ever  taken  the  place  of  the 
old  one. 

In  a  country  where  everybody  reads,  men  as  well 
as  women  ;  in  a  country  where  nobody  takes  much 
interest  in  politics  outside  of  the  State  and  the  city  in 
which  he  lives,  the  journalist  has  to  turn  out  every 
day  all  the  news  he  '.an  gather,  and  present  them  to 
the  reader  in  the  most  readable  form.  Formerly  daily 
journalism  was  a  branch  of  literature ;  now  it  is  a 
news  store,  and  is  so  not  only  in  America.  The  Eng- 
lish press  shows  signs  of  the  same  tendency,  and  so 
does  the  Parisian  press.  Take  the  London  Pall  Mall 
Ga^:t*e  and  Star,  and  the  Paris  Figaro,  as  illustrations 
of  what  I  advance. 

As  democracy  makes  progress  in  England,  journalism 
will  become  more  and  more  American,  although  the 
English  reporter  will  have  some  trouble  in  succeeding 
to  compete  with  his  American  confrere  in  humor  and 
liveliness. 

Under  the  guidance  of  political  leaders,  the  news- 
papers of  Continental  Europe  direct  public  opinion. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


119 


In  a  democracy,  the  newspapers  follow  public  opinion 
and  cater  to  the  public  taste ;  they  are  the  servants  of 
the  people.  The  American  says  to  his  journalists:  "  I 
don't  care  a  pin  for  your  opinions  on  such  a  question. 
Give  me  the  news  and  I  will  comment  on  it  myself. 
Only  don't  forget  that  I  am  an  overworked  man,  and 
that  before,  or  after,  my  fourteen  hours'  work,  I  want 
to  be  entertained." 

So,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  the  American  journalist 
must  be  spicy,  lively,  and  bright.  He  must  know 
how,  not  merely  to  report,  but  to  relate  in  a  racy, 
catching  style,  an  accident,  a  trial,  a  conflagration,  and 
be  able  to  make  up  an  article  of  one  or  two  columns 
upon  the  most  insignificant  incident.  He  must  be 
interesting,  readable.  His  eyes  and  ears  must  be 
always  open,  every  one  of  his  five  senses  on  the  alert, 
for  he  must  keep  ahead  in  this  wild  race  for  news. 
He  must  be  a  good  conversationalist  on  most  subjects, 
so  as  to  bring  back  from  his  interviews  with  different 
people  a  good  store  of  materials.  He  must  be  a  man 
of  courage,  to  brave  rebuffs.  He  must  be  a  philos- 
opher, to  pocket  abuse  cheerfully. 

He  must  be  a  man  of  honor,  to  inspire  confidence 
in  the  people  he  has  to  deal  with.  Personally  I  can 
say  this  of  him,  that  wherever  I  have  begged  him,  for 
instance,  to  kindly  abstain  from  mentioning  this  or 
that  which  might  have  been  said  in  conversation 
with  him,  I  have  invariably  found  that  he  kept  his 
word. 

But  if  the  matter  is  of  public  interest,  he  is,  before 
and  above  all,  the  servant  of  the  public  ;  so,  never 
challenge  his  spirit  of  enterprise,  or  he  will  leave  no 


'':%m 


w 


I20 


A   FUENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


15' 


fi 


stone  unturned  until  he  has  found  out  your  secret  and 
exhibited  it  in  public. 

I  do  not  think  that  American  journalism  needs  an 
apology. 

It  is  the  natural  outcome  of  circumstances  and  the 
democratic  times  we  live  in.  The  Th6atre-Fran9ais  is 
not  now,  under  a  Republic,  and  probably  never  again 
will  be,  what  it  was  when  it  was  placed  under  the  pat- 
ronage and  supervision  of  the  French  Court.  Democ- 
racy is  the  form  of  government  least  of  all  calculated  to 
foster  literature  and  the  fine  arts.  To  that  purpose. 
Monarchy,  with  its  Court  and  its  fashionable  society, 
is  the  best.  This  is  no  reason  to  prefer  a  monarchy  to 
a  republic.  Liberty,  like  any  other  luxury,  has  to  be 
paid  for. 

Journalism  cannot  be  now  what  it  was  when  papers 
were  read  by  people  of  culture.  In  a  democracy,  the 
stage  and  journalism  have  to  please  the  masses  of  the 
people.  As  the  people  become  better  and  better  edu- 
cated, the  stage  and  journalism  will  rise  with  them. 
What  the  people  want,  I  repeat  it,  is  news,  and  jour- 
nals are  properly  called  neivs  papers. 

Speaking  of  American  journalism,  no  man  need  use 
apologetic  language. 

Not  when  the  proprietor  of  an  American  paper  v,  iii 
not  hesitate  to  spend  thousands  of  dollars  to  prov-dt^ 
his  readers  with  the  minutest  details  about  some  great 
European  event. 

Not  when  an  American  paper  will,  at  its  own  expense, 
send  Henry  M.  Stanley  to  Africa  in  search  of  Living- 
stone. 

Not  so  long  as  the  American  press  is  vigilant,  and 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


121 


keeps  its  thousand  eyes  open  on  the  interests  of  the 
American  people. 


Midnight. 

Dined  this  evening  with  Richard  Mansfield  at  Del- 
monico's.  I  sat  between  Mr.  Charles  A.  Dana,  the 
first  of  American  journalists,  and  General  Horace  Por- 
ter, and  had  what  my  American  friends  would  call  "  a 
mighty  elegant  time."  The  host  was  delightful,  the 
dinner  excellent,  the  wine  "extra  dry,"  the  speeches 
quite  the  reverse.  "Speeches"  is  rather  a  big  word 
for  what  took  place  at  dessert.  Every  one  supplied  an 
anecdote,  a  story,  a  reminiscence,  and  contributed  to 
the  general  entertainment  of  the  guests. 

The  Americans  have  too  much  humor  to  spoil  their 
dinners  with  toasts  to  the  President,  the  Senate,  the 
House  of  Representatives,  the  army,  the  navy,  the 
militia,  the  volunteers,  and  the  reserved  forces. 

I  once  heard  Mr.  Chauncey  M.  Depew  referring  to 
the  volunteers,  at  some  English  public  dinner,  as  "  men 
invincible — in  peace,  and  invisible — in  war."  After 
dinner  I  remarked  to  an  English  peer  : 

"  You  have  heard  to-night  the  great  New  York  after- 
dinner  speaker;  what  do  you  think  of  his  speech  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  was  witty  ;  but  I  think  his 
remark  about  our  volunteers  was  not  in  very  good 
taste." 

I  remained  composed,  and  did  not  burst. 


^'i 


i'lU 


Newburgh,  N.  Y,,  Jamiary  2\. 
I  lectured  in  Melrose,  near  Boston,  last  night,  and 


1 1 


122 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


had  the  satisfaction  of  pleasing  a  Massachusetts  audi- 
ence for  the  second  time.  After  the  lecture,  I  had 
supper  with  Mr.  Nat  Goodwin,  a  very  good  actor,  who 
is  now  playing  in  Boston  in  a  new  play  by  Mr.  Steele 
Mackaye.  Mr.  Nat  Goodwin  told  many  good  stories 
at  supper.  He  can  entertain  his  friends  in  private  as 
well  as  he  can  the  public. 


!l 

ii 


i       I 


To-night  I  have  appeared  in  a  church,  in  Newburgh. 
The  minister,  who  took  the  chair,  had  the  good  sense 
to  refrain  from  opening  the  lecture  with  prayer.  There 
are  many  who  have  not  the  tact  necessary  to  see  that 
praying  before  a  humorous  lecture  is  almost  as  irrever- 
ent as  praying  before  a  glass  of  grog.  It  is  as  an  artist, 
however,  that  I  resent  that  prayer.  After  the  audience 
have  said  Amen,  it  takes  them  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour 
to  realize  that  the  lecture  is  not  a  sermon  ;  that  they 
are  in  a  church,  but  not  at  church  ;  and  the  whole 
time  their  minds  are  in  that  undecided  state,  all 
your  points  fall  flat  and  miss  fire.  Even  without  the 
preliminary  prayer,  I  dislike  lecturing  in  a  church. 
The  very  atmosphere  of  a  church  is  against  the  suc- 
cess of  a  light,  humorous  lecture,  and  many  a  point, 
which  would  bring  down  the  house  in  a  theater,  will  be 
received  only  with  smiles  in  a  lecture  hall,  and  in  re- 
spectful silence  in  a  church.  An  audience  is  greatly 
influenced  by  surroundings. 

Now,  I  must  say  that  the  interior  of  an  American 
church,  with  its  lines  of  benches,  its  galleries,  and  its 
platform,  does  not  inspire  in  one  such  religious  feelings 
as  the  interior  of   a  European  Catholic  church.     In 


^    FREA^CinTAX  IX  AMERICA.  123 

many  American  towns,  the  church  is  let  for  meetings 
concerts,  exhibitions,  bazaars,  etc.,  and  so  far  as  you' 
can  see,  there  is  nothing  to  distinguish  it  from  an  ordi- 
nary  lecture  hall. 

Yet  it  is  a  church,  and  both  lecturer  and  audience 
feel  It. 


li 

I 


ii 


II 


■:;.  I 


)  » 


"il  '^il  i: 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Marcus  Aurelius  in  America— Chairmen  I  have 
HAD— American,  English,  and  Scotch  Chair- 
men— One  who  had  Been  to  Boulogne — Talk- 
ative AND  Silent  Chairmen — A  Trying  Oc- 
casion— The  Lord  is  Asked  to  Allow  the 
Audience  to  See  my  Points. 


JVezv  York,  January  22. 

THERE  are  indeed  very  few  Americans  who  have 
not  either  tact  or  a  sense  of  humor.  They  make 
the  best  of  chairmen.  They  know  that  the  audience 
have  not  come  to  hear  them,  and  that  all  that  is  re- 
quired of  them  is  to  introduce  the  lecturer  in  very  few 
words,  and  to  give  him  a  good  start.  Who  is  the 
lecturer  that  would  not  appreciate,  nay,  love,  such  a 
chairman  as  Dr.  R.  S.  MacArthur,  who  introduced  me 
yesterday  to  a  New  York  audience  in  the  following 
manner? 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  the  story  goes 
that,  last  summer,  a  party  of  Americans  staying  in 
Rome  paid  a  visit  to  the  famous  Spithover's  bookshop 
in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna.  Now  Spithover  is  the  most 
learned  of  bibliophiles.  You  must  go  thither  if  you  need 
artistic  and  archaeological  works  of  the  profoundest 
research  and  erudition.     But  one  of  the  ladies  in  this 

»a4 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


125 


tourists' partyonly  wanted  the  lively  travels  in  America 
of  Max  O'Rell,  and  she  asked  for  the  book  at  Spit- 
hover's.  There  came  in  a  deep  guttural  voice— an 
Anglo-German  voice— from  a  spectacled  clerk  behind 
a  desk,  to  this  purport :  '  Marcus  Aurelius  vos  neffer  in 
te  Unided  Shtaates  ! '  But,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  he 
is  now,  and  here  he  is." 

With  such  an   introduction,  I  was  immediately  in 
touch  with  my  audience. 

What  a  change  after  English  chairmen  ! 

A  few  days  before  lecturing  in  any  English  town, 
under  the  auspices  of  a  Literary  Society  or  Mechanics' 
Institute,  the   lecturer   generally    receives    from    the 
secretary  a  letter  running  somewhat  as  follow  : 
Dear  Sir: 

I  have  much  pleasure  in  informing  you  that  our  Mr.  Blank,  one 
of  our  vice-presidents  and  a  well-known  resident  here,  will  take  the 
chair  at  your  lecture. 

-      Translated  into  plain  English,  this  reads  : 

My  poor  fellow,  I  am  much  grieved  to  have  to  inform  you  that  a 
chairman  will  be  inflicted  upon  you  on  the  occasion  of  your  lecture 
before  the  members  of  our  Society. 

In  my  few  years'  lecturing  experience,  I  have  come 
across  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  chairmen,  but  I  can 
recollect  very  few  that  "  have  helped  me."  Now,  what 
is  the  office,  the  duty,  of  a  chairman  on  such  occasions .? 
He  is  supposed  to  introduce  the  lecturer  to  the 
audience.  For  this  he  needs  to  be  able  to  make  a  neat 
•speech.  He  has  to  tell  the  audience  who  the  lecturer 
is,  in  case  they  should  not  know  it,  which  is  seldom  the 
case.      I   was  once    introduced  to   an   audience  who 


m 


isfr  11 


w 


"MARCUS   AURELIUS   VOS   NEFFfiR  IN  TE  UNIDED   SHTAATES ! " 


A    FRENCHMAN  IX  AMERICA. 


"7 


knew  me,  by  a  chairman  vvlio,  I  don't  think,  had  ever 
heard  of  me  in  his  life.  Before  going  on  the  platform 
he  asked  me  whether  I  had  written  anything,  next 
whether  I  was  an  Irishman  or  a  Frenchman,  etc' 

Sometimes  the  chairman  is  nervous;  he'hems  and 
haws,  cannot  find  the  words  he  wants,  and  only  suc- 
ceeds in  fidgeting  the  audience.     Sometimes,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  is  a  wit.     There  is  danger  again.     I  was 
once  introduced  to  a  New  York  audience  by  General 
Horace  Porter.     Those  of  my  readers  who  know  the 
delightful  general  and  have  heard  him  deliver  one  of 
those  little  gems  of   speeches  in   his  own  inimitable 
manner,  will  agree  with  me  that  certainly  there  was 
danger  in  that ;  and  they  will  not  be  surprised  when  I 
tell  them  that  after  his  delightfully  witty  and  graceful 
little  introduction,  I  felt  as  if  the  best  part  of  the  show 
was  over. 

Sometimes  the  chair  has  to  be  offered  to  a  magnate 
of  the  neighborhood,  though  he  may  be  noted  for  his 
long,  prosy  orations— which  annoy  the  public ;  or  to  a 
very  popular  man  in  the  locality  who  gets  all  the  ap- 
plause— which  annoys  the  lecturer. 

"Brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit,"  should  be  the  motto  of 
chairmen,  and  I  sympathize  with  a  friend  of  mine  who 
says  that  chairmen,  like  little  boys  and  girls,  should  be 
seen  and  not  heard. 

Of  those  chairmen  who  can  and  do  speak,  the  Scotch 
ones  are  generally  good.  They  have  a  knack  of  start- 
ing  the  evening  with  some  droll  Scotch  anecdote,  told 
with  that  piquant  and  picturesque  accent  of  theirs,  and 
of  putting  the  audience  in  a  good  humor.  Oc-asion- 
ally  they  will  also  make  apropos  and  equally  droll  little 


w 


[!l?,l!. 

i'i-l«li 


r  i! 

f: 

I  ■ 


ill     : :  I 


128 


A   fKEXC/IMAiV  IN  AMERICA, 


I 


h 


speeches  at  the  close.  One  evening,  in  talking  of 
America,  I  had  mentioned  the  fact  that  American  ban- 
quets were  very  lively,  and  that  I  thought  the  fact  of 
Americans  being  able  to  keep  up  such  a  flow  of  wit  for 
so  many  hours,  was  perhaps  due  to  their  drinking  Apol- 
linaris  water  instead  of  stronger  things  after  dessert. 
At  the  end  of  the  lecture,  the  chairman  rose  and  said 
he  had  greatly  enjoyed  it,  but  that  he  must  take  ex- 
ception to  one  statement  the  lecturer  had  made,  for 
he  thought  it  "  fery  deeficult  to  be  wutty  on  Apollinaris 
watter." 

Another  kind  of  chairman  is  the  one  who  kills  your 
finish,  and  stops  all  the  possibility  of  your  being  called 
back  for  applause,  by  coming  forward,  the  very  instant 
the  last  words  are  out  of  youi  mouth,  to  inform  the 
audience  that  the  next  lecture  will  be  given  by  Mr.  So- 
and-So,  or  to  make  a  statement  of  the  Society's  finan- 
cial position,  concluding  by  appealing  to  the  members 
to  induce  their  friends  to  join. 

Then  there  is  the  chairman  who  does  not  know  what 
you  are  going  to  talk  about,  but  thinks  it  his  duty  to 
give  the  audience  a  kind  of  summary  of  what  he  imag- 
ines the  lecture  is  going  to  be.  He  is  terrible.  But  he 
is  nothing  to  the  one  who,  when  the  lecture  is  over, 
will  persist  in  summing  it  up,  and  explaining  your 
own  jokes,  especially  the  ones  he  has  not  quite  seen 
through.  This  is  the  dullest,  the  saddest  chairman  yet 
invented. 

Some  modest  chairmen  apologize  for  standing  be- 
tween the  lecturer  and  the  audience,  and  declare  they 
cannot  speak,  but  do.  Others  promise  to  speak  a  min- 
ute only,  but  don't. 


THE  CHAIRMAN. 


,  :  I 


.In 


!Mi 


i  ,,\ 


I30 


//    FA'EXC/IM.LV  I.V  AMERICA, 


\  • 


f  :! 


! 


1 


? 


"  VVliat  shall  I  speak  about  ?  "  said  a  cliairman  to  me 
one  day,  after  I  had  been  introduced  to  him  in  the  little 
back  room  behind  the  platform. 

"  If  you  will  oblige  me,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  kindly  speak 
about — one  minute." 

Once  I  was  introduced  to  the  audience  as  the  pro- 
moter of  good  feelings  between  France  and  England. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  chairman,  "  we  see  clouds  of 
misunderstanding  arise  between  the  French — between 
the  English — between  the  two.  The  lecturer  of  this 
evening  makes  it  his  business  to  disperse  these  clouds — 

these  clouds — to — to But  I  will  not  detain  you 

any  longer.  His  name  is  familiar  to  all  of  us.  I'm 
sure  he  needs  no  introduction  to  this  audience.  We 
all  know  him.     I   have   much  pleasure  in  introducing 

to  you  Mr. — Mosshiay — Mr. "     Then  he  looked  at 

me  in  despair. 

It  was  evident  he  had  forgotten     .j  name. 

"Max  O'Rell  is,  I  believe,  what  you  are  driving  at," 
I  whispered  to  him. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  most  objectionable  chairmen  in  England  are, 
perhaps,  local  men  holding  civic  honors.  Accustomed 
to  deliver  themselves  of  a  speech  whenever  and  wher- 
ever they  get  a  chance,  aldermen,  town  councilors, 
members  of  local  boards,  and  school  boards,  never 
miss  an  opportunity  of  getting  upon  a  platform  to 
address  a  good  crowd.  Not  long  ago,  I  was  introduced 
to  an  audience  in  a  large  English  city  by  a  candidate 
for  civic  honors.  The  election  of  the  town  council 
was  to  take  place  a  fortnight  afterward,  and  this  gen- 
tleman profited  by  the  occasion  to  air  all  his  grievances 


I 


A   /Ki:xa/M.IX  /y  AMERICA. 


131 


against  the  sitting  council,  and  to  assure  the  citizens 
that  if  they  would  only  elect  him,  there  were  bright 
days  in  store  for  them  and  their  city.  This  was  the 
gist  of  the  matter.  The  speech  lasted  twenty  minutes. 
Once  the  chair  was  taken  by  an  alderman  in  a  Lan- 


k 


"how  do  you  pronounce  your  name?" 


cashire  city,  and  the  hall  was  crowded.  "  What  a  fine 
house ! "  I  remarked  to  the  chairman  as  we  sat  down 
on  the  platform. 

"  Very  fine  indeed,"   he  said ;    "  everybody  in  the 
town  knew  I  was  going  to  take  the  chair." 
I  was  sorry  I  had  spoken. 


"fi 


\\    Ml 


Vi 
I 


Hi 


I 


I  I 


I    ! 


II       j 


132 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


More  than  once,  when  announced  to  deliver  a  lec- 
ture on  France  and  the  French,  I  have  been  introduced 
by  a  chairman  who,  having  spent  his  holidays  in  that 
country  once  or  twice,  opened  the  evening's  proceed- 
ings by  himself  delivering  a  lecture  on  France.  I  have 
felt  very  tempted  to  imitate  a  confrere,  and  say  to  the 
audience  :  "  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  as  one  lecture  on 
France  is  enough  for  an  evening,  perhaps  you  would 
rather  I  spoke  about  something  else  now."  The  con- 
frere I  have  just  mentioned  was  to  deliver  a  lecture  on 
Charles  Dickens  one  evening.  The  chairman  knew 
something  of  Charles  Dickens  and,  for  quite  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  spoke  on  the  great  English  novelist,  giving 
anecdotes,  extracts  of  his  writings,  etc.  When  the 
lecturer  rose,  he  said  :  "  Ladles  and  Gentlemen,  two 
lectures  on  Charles  Dickens  are  perhaps  more  than  you 
expected  to  hear  to-night.  You  have  just  heard  a 
lecture  on  Charles  Dickens.  I  am  now  going  to  give 
you  one  on  Charles  Kingsley." 

Sometimes  I  get  a  little  amusement,  however  (as  in 
the  country  town  of  X.),  out  of  the  usual  proceedings 
of  the  society  before  whose  members  I  am  engaged  to 
appear.  At  X.,  the  audience  being  assembled  and  the 
time  up,  I  was  told  to  go  on  the  platform  alone  and, 
being  there,  to  immediately  sit  down.  So  I  went  on, 
and  sat  down.  Some  one  in  the  room  then  rose  and 
proposed  that  Mr.  N.  should  take  the  chair.  Mr.  N., 
it  appeared,  had  been  to  Boulogne  {to  B'long),  and  was 
particularly  fitted  to  introduce  a  Frenchman.  In  a 
speech  of  about  five  minutes*  duration,  all  Mr.  N.'s 
qualifications  for  the  post  of  chairman  that  evening 
were  duly  set  forth.     Then  some  one  else  rose  and 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


m 


seconded  the  proposition,  re-enumerating  most  of  these 
qualifications.  Mr.  N.  then  marched  up  the  hall, 
ascended  the  platform,  and  proceeded  to  return  thanks 
for  the  kind  manner  in  which  he  had  been  proposed 
for  the  chair  and  for  the  enthusiasm  (a  few  friends  had 
applauded)  with  which  the  audience  had  sanctioned 
the  choice.  He  said  it  was  true  that  he  had  been  in 
France,  and  that  he  greatly  admired  the  country  and 
the  people,  and  he  was  glad  to  have  this  opportunity 
to  say  so  before  a  Frenchman.  Then  he  related  some 
of  his  traveling  impressions  in  France.  A  few  people 
coughed,  two  or  three  more  bold  stamped  their  feet, 
but  he  took  no  heed  and,  for  ten  minutes,  he  gave  the 
audience  the  benefit  of  the  information  he  had  gath- 
ered in  Boulogne.  These  preliminaries  over,  I  gave 
my  licture,  after  which  Mr.  N.  called  upon  a  member 
of  the  audience  to  propose  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the 
lecturer  "for  the  most  amusing  and  interesting  dis- 
course, etc." 

Now  a  paid  lecturer  wants  his  check  when  his  work 
is  over,  and  although  a  vote  of  thanks,  when  it  is 
spontaneous,  '^  a  compliment  which  he  greatly  appre- 
ciates, he  is  more  likely  to  feel  awkwardness  than 
pleasure  when  it  is  a  mere  red-tape  formality.  The 
vote  of  thanks,  on  this  particular  occasion,  was  pro- 
posed in  due  form.  Then  it  was  seconded  by  some 
one  who  repeated  two  or  three  of  my  points  and  spoiled 
them.  By  this  time  I  began  to  enter  into  the  fun  of 
the  thing,  and,  after  having  returned  thanks  for  the 
vote  of  thanks  and  sat  down,  I  stepped  forward  again, 
filled  with  a  mild  resolve  to  have  the  last  word : 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  I  said,  "  I  have  now  much 


't,.- 


'\ 


ij 


134 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


\\V 


■M     W 


\\    \l\ 


\     ■ , 


pleasure  in  proposing  that  a  hearty  vote  of  thanks  be 
given  Mr.  N.  for  the  able  manner  in  which  he  has 
filled  the  chair.  I  am  proud  to  have  been  introduced 
to  you  by  an  Englishman  who  knows  my  country  so 
well."  I  went  again  through  the  list  of  Mr.  N.'s 
qualifications,  not  forgetting  the  trip  to  Boulogne  and 
the  impressions  it  had  left  on  him.  Somebody  rose 
and  seconded  this.  Mr.  N.  delivered  a  speech  to 
thank  the  audience  once  more,  and  then  those  who 
had  survived  went  home. 

Some  Nonconformist  societies  will  engage  a  light  or 
humorous  lecturer,  put  him  in  their  chapel,  and  open 
his  mouth  with  prayer.  Prayer  is  good,  but  I  would 
as  soon  think  of  saying  grace  before  dancing  as  of  be- 
ginning my  lecture  with  a  prayer.  This  kind  of  ex- 
perience has  been  mine  several  times.  A  truly  trying 
experience  it  was,  on  the  first  occasion,  to  be  accom- 
panied to  the  platform  by  the  minister,  who,  motioning 
me  to  sit  down,  advanced  to  the  front,  lowered  his 
head,  and  said  in  solemn  accents :  "  Let  us  pray." 
After  I  got  started,  it  took  me  fully  ten  minutes  to 
make  the  people  realize  that  they  were  not  at  church. 
This  experience  I  have  had  in  America  as  well  as  in 
England.  Another  experience  in  this  line  was  still 
worse,  for  the  prayer  was  supplemented  by  the  singing 
of  a  hymn  of  ten  or  twelve  verses.  You  may  easily 
imagine  that  my  first  remark  fell  dead  flat. 

I  have  been  introduced  to  audiences  as  Mossoo, 
Meshoe,  and  Mounzeer  O'Reel,  and  other  British  adap- 
tations of  our  word  Monsieur,  and  found  it  very  diffi- 
cult to  bear  with  equfinimity  a  chairman  who  maltreated 
a  name  which  I  had  taken  some  care  to  keep  correctly 


lie 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


135 


spelt  before  the  public.  Yet  this  man  is  charming 
when  compared  with  the  one  who,  in  the  midst  of  his 
introductory  remarks,  turns  to  you,  and  in  a  stage 
whisper  perfectly  audible  all  over  the  hall,  asks  :  "How 
do  you  pronounce  your  name?" 

Passing  over  chairman  chatty  and  chairman  terse, 
chairman  eloquent  and  chairman  the  reverse,  I  feel  de- 
cidedly most  kindly  toward  the  silent  chairman.  He 
is  very  rare,  but  he  does  exist  and,  when  met  with,  is  ex- 
ceedingly precious.  Why  he  exists,  in  some  English 
Institutes,  I  have  always  been  at  a  loss  to  imagine. 
Whether  he  comes  on  to  see  that  the  lecturer  does  not 
run  off  before  his  time  is  up,  or  with  the  water  bottle, 
which  is  the  only  portable  thing  on  the  platform  gen- 
erally ;  whether  he  is  a  successor  to  some  venerable 
deaf  and  dumb  founder  of  his  Society  ;  or  whether  he 
goes  on  with  the  lecturer  to  give  a  lesson  in  modesty 
to  the  public,  as  who  should  say  :  "  I  could  speak  an  if 
I  would,  but  I  forbear."  Be  his  raison  d'etre  what  it 
may,  we  all  love  him.  To  the  nervous  novice  he  is  a 
kind  of  quiet  support,  to  the  old  stager  he  is  as  a  pic- 
ture unto  the  eye  and  as  music  unto  the  ear. 

•  •  •  *  • 

Here  I  pause.  I  want  to  collect  my  thoughts.  Does 
my  memory  serve  me?  Am  I  dreaming,  or  worse  still, 
am  I  on  the  point  of  inventing?  No,  I  could  not  in- 
vent such  a  story,  it  is  beyond  my  power. 

I  was  once  lecturing  to  the  students  of  a  religious 
college  in  America.  Before  I  began,  a  professor 
stepped  forward,  and  offered  a  prayer,  in  which  he 
asked  the  Lord  to  allow  the  audience  to  see  my  points. 

Now,  I  duly  feel  the  weight  of  responsibility  attach- 


.ilt 


; 


'>i 


t,  I; 


m 


L 


SI') 


Hi! 
't 


11 


i  I- 


136 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


ing  to  such  a  statement,  and  in  justice  to  myself  I 
can  do  no  less  than  give  the  reader  the  petition  just 
as  it  fell  on  my  astonished  ears  : 

*'  Lord,  Thou  knowest  that  we  work  hard  for  Thee, 
and  that  recreation  is  necessary  in  order  that  we  may 
work  with  renewed  vigor.  We  have  to-night  with  us 
a  gentleman  from  France  [excuse  my  recording  a  com- 
pliment too  flattering],  whose  criticisms  are  witty  and 
refined,  but  subtle,  and  we  pray  Thee  to  so  prepare  our 
minds'that  we  may  thoroughly  understand  and  enjoy 
them." 

"  But  subtle!  " 

I  am  still  wondering  whether  my  lectures  are  so 
subtle  as  to  need  praying  over,  or  whether  that  audi- 
ence was  so  dull  that  they  needed  praying  for. 

Whichever  it  was,  the  prayer  was  heard,  for  the  au- 
dience proved  warm,  keen,  and  thoroughly  apprecia- 
tive. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XV. 
Reflections  on  the  Typical  American. 


New  York,  January  23. 
T  WAS  asked   to-day  by   the  editor  of  the  North 
A    American  Review  to  write  an  article  on  the  typi- 
cal  American. 

The  typical  American ! 

In  the  eyes  of  my  beloved  compatriots,  the  typical 
American  is  a  man  with  hair  falling  over  his  shoulders 
weanng  a  sombrero,  a  red  shirt,  leather  leggings  a 
pair  of  revolvers  in  his  belt,  spending  his  life  on  horse- 
back, and  able  to  shoot  a  fly  off  the  tip  of  your  nose 
without  for  a  moment  endangering  your  olfactory 
organ;  and,  since  Buffalo  Bill  has  been  exhibiting  his 
Indians  and  cowboys  to  the  Parisians,  this  impression 
has  become  a  deep  conviction. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  astonishment  I  caused  to  mv 
mother  when  I  first  broke  the  news  to  her  that  I 
wanted   to  go   to  America.      My   mother  had  prac- 
tically never  left  a  lovely  little   provincial  town  of 
'T^^'  ^^""^  expressed  perfect  bewilderment. 

Jou  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  to  go  to  Amer- 
ica  ?    she  said.     "  What  for  ?  " 

"  I  am  invited  to  give  lectures  there." 
"  Lectures?  in  what  language  ?  " 


\i 


i  , 

I 


I'    -f 


i, 


: !  ; 


I;  ' 


i 
■ 


:ii 


I;      ! 
I     ■- 


m 
m 


I 

t 
i- 

!: 

!■ 
i 

I    ! 
i 


i 

■ 

i 


J-: 


I 


l'  i  It 


138 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


"  Well,  mother,  I  will  try  my  best  in  English." 

"  Do  they  speak  English  out  there  ?  " 

"  H'm— pretty  well,  I  think.'^ 

We  did  i.ot  go  any  further  on  the  subject  that  time. 
Probably  the  good  mother  thought  of  the  time  when 
the  Californian  gold-fields  attracted  all  the  scum  of 
Europe,  and,  no  doubt,  she  thought  that  it  was  strange 
for  a  man  who  had  a  decent  position  in  Europe,  to  go 
and  "  seek  fortune"  in  America. 

Later  on,  however,  after  returning  to  England,  I 
wrote  to  her  that  I  had  ma  ^  up  my  mind  to  go. 

Her  answer  was  full  of  gentle  reproaches,  and  of 
sorrovv  at  seeing  that  she  had  lost  all  her  influence 
over  her  son.  She  signed  herself  "  always  your  loving 
mother,"  and  indulged  in  a  postscript.  Madame  de 
S^vign^  said  that  the  gist  of  a  woman's  letter  was  to 
be  found  in  the  postscript. 

My  mother's  was  this  : 

"  P.S. — I  shall  not  tell  any  one  in  the  town  that  you 
have  gone  to  America." 

This  explains  why  I  still  dare  show  my  face  in  my 
little  native  town. 

«  •  •  •  • 

The  typical  American  ! 

First  of  all,  does  he  exist  ?  I  do  not  think  so.  As 
I  have  said  elsewhere,  there  are  Americans  in  plenty, 
but  the  American  has  not  made  his  appearance  yet. 
The  type  existed  a  hundred  years  ago  in  New  England. 
He  is  there  still ;  but  he  is  not  now  a  national  type, 
he  is  only  a  local  one. 

I  was  talking  one  day  with  two  eminent  Americans 
on  the  subject  of  the  typical  American,  real  or  imag. 


'v  l<- 


li   ! 


1 


if 


THE  TYPICAL  AMERICAN. 


'i;     n 


I.  i-       ^! 


'II' 


!  i 


if 


'  iHf 


!  I  ,' 


is: 


i'" 


ll» 


fi     'i 


M 


I.! 


P 


!' 


ll: 


I 


I    j; 

J: 


■III 


'•, 


in 


140 


/f   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


inary.  One  of  them  was  of  opinion  that  he  was  a  tac- 
iturn being  ;  the  other,  on  the  contrary,  maintained 
that  he  was  talkative.  How  is  a  foreigner  to  dare 
decide,  where  two  eminent  natives  find  it  impossible  to 
agree  ? 

In  speaking  of  the  typical  American,  let  us  under- 
stand each  other.  All  the  civilized  nations  of  the 
earth  are  alike  in  one  respect ;  they  are  all  composed 
of  two  kinds  of  men,  those  that  are  gentlemen,  and 
those  that  are  not.  America  is  no  exception  to  this 
rule.  Fifth  Avenue  does  not  differ  from  Belgravia 
and  Mayfair.  A  gentleman  is  everywhere  a  gentle- 
man. As  a  type,  he  belongs  to  no  particular  country, 
he  is  universal. 

When  the  writer  of  some  "  society  "  paper,  English 
or  American,  reproaches  a  sociologist  for  writing  about 
the  masses  instead  of  the  classes,  suggesting  that  "  he 
probably  never  frequented  the  best  society  of  the 
nation  he  describes,"  that  writer  writes  himself  down 
an  ass. 

Ill  the  matters  of  feeling,  conduct,  taste,  culture,  I 
1  :;  never  discovered  the  least  difference  between  a 
gentleman  from  America  and  a  gentleman  from 
France,  England,  Russia,  or  any  other  country  of 
Europe — including  Germany.  So,  if  we  want  to  find  a 
typical  American,  it  is  not  in  good  society  that  we 
must  search  for  him,  but  among  the  mass  of  the  popula- 
tion. 

Wei!,  it  is  just  here  that  our  search  will  break  down. 
We  shall  come  across  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  Amer- 
icans, but  not  one  that  is  really  typical. 

A  little  while  ago,  the  Century  Magazine  published 


s 


ill 


III 


THE  AMERICAN  OF  A  HUN^^RED  YEARS  AGO. 


I 


\   I 


Ill 


in  I 

,1 


i 


i 


1 

I 


t 

I 


i  \ 


142 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


specimens  of  composite  photography.  First,  there  was 
the  portrait  of  one  person,  then  that  of  this  same  face 
with  another  superposed,  then  another  containing 
three  faces  blended,  and  so  on  up  to  eight  or  nine.  On 
the  last  page  the  result  was  shown.  I  can  only  com- 
pare the  typical  American  to  the  last  of  those.  This 
appears  to  me  the  process  of  evolution  through  which 
the  American  type  is  now  going.  What  it  will  be 
when  this  process  of  evolution  is  over,  no  one,  I  im- 
agine, can  tell.  The  evolution  will  be  complete  when 
immigration  shall  have  ceased,  and  all  the  different 
types  have  been  well  mixed  and  assimilated.  While 
the  process  of  assimilation  is  still  going  on,  the  result 
is  suspended,  and  the  type  is  incomplete. 

But,  meanwhile,  are  there  not  certain  characteristic 
traits  to  be  found  throughout  almost  all  America  ? 
That  is  a  question  much  easier  to  answer. 

Is  it  necessary  to  repeat  that  I  put  aside  good  society 
and  confine  myself  merely  to  the  people? 

Nations  are  like  individuals  :  when  they  are  young, 
they  have  the  qualities  and  the  defects  of  children. 
The  characteristic  trait  of  childhood  is  curiosity.  It  is 
also  that  of  the  American.  I  have  never  been  in  Aus- 
tralia, but  I  should  expect  to  find  this  trait  in  the 
Australian. 

Look  at  American  journalism.  What  does  it  live 
on  ?  Scandal  and  gossip.  Let  a  writer,  an  artist,  or 
any  one  else  become  popular  in  the  States,  and  the 
papers  will  immediately  tell  the  public  at  what  time 
he  rises  and  what  he  takes  for  breakfast.  When  any 
one  of  the  least  importance  arrives  in  America,  he  is 
quickly  beset  by  a  band  of  reporters  who  ask  him  a 


j4   FREiyCIlMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


J43 


host  of  preposterous  questions  and  examine  him  mi- 
nutely from  head  to  foot,  in  order  to  tell  the  public 
next  day  whether  he  wears  laced,  buttoned,  or  elastic 
boots,  enlighten  them  as  to  the  cut  of  his  coat  and  the 


I  ', 


i'll' 


CURIOSITY  IN  AUSTRALIA. 


color  of  his  trowsers,  and  let  them  know  if  he  parts  his 
hair  in  the  middle  or  not. 

Every  time  I  went  into  a  new  town  to  lecture  I  was 
interviewed,  and  the  next  day,  besides  an  account  of 


.1:         M 


144 


A    FNENCllMAiW  AV  AMERICA, 


II.  I 


IlL 


1' 


I 


■ 


the  lecture,  there  was  invariably  a  paragraph  somewhat 
in  this  style : 

The  lecturer  is  a  man  of  about  forty,  whose  cranium  is  getting 
visible  through  his  hair.  He  wears  a  double  eye-glass,  with  which 
he  plays  while  talking  to  his  audience.  His  handkerchief  was 
black-bordered.  He  wore  the  regulation  patent  leather  shoes,  and 
his  shirt  front  was  fastened  with  a  single  stud.  He  spoke  without 
effort  or  j)retension,  and  often  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  etc. 

A  few  days  ago,  on  reading  the  morning  papers  in  a 
town  where  I  had  lectured  the  night  before,  I  found, 
in  one  of  them,  about  twenty  lines  consecrated  to  my 
lecture,  and  half  a  column  to  my  hat. 

I  must  tell  you  that  this  hat  was  brown,  and  all  the 
hats  in  America  are  black.  If  you  wear  anything 
that  is  not  exactly  like  what  Americans  wear,  you  are 
gazed  at  as  if  you  were  a  curious  animal.  The  Amer- 
icans are  as  great  badauds  as  the  Parisians.  In  Lon- 
don, you  may  go  down  Regent  Street  or  Piccadilly 
got  up  as  a  Swiss  admiral,  a  Polish  general,  or  even  a 
Highlander,  and  nobody  will  take  the  trouble  to  look  at 
you.  But,  in  America,  you  have  only  to  put  on  a  brown 
hat  or  a  pair  of  light  trowsers,  and  you  will  become  the 
object  of  a  ci;  osity  which  will  not  fail  very  promptly 
to  bore  you,  if  you  are  fond  of  tranquillity,  and  like  to 
go  about  unremarked. 

I  was  so  fond  of  that  poor  brown  hat,  too!  It  was 
an  incomparably  obliging  hat.  It  took  any  shape,  and 
adapted  itself  to  any  circumstances.  It  even  went  into 
my  pocket  on  occasions.  I  had  bought  it  at  Lincoln 
&  Bennett's,  if  you  please.  But  I  had  to  give  it  up. 
To  my  great  regret,  I  saw  that  it  was  imperative :  its 
popularity  bid  fair  to  make  me  jealous.    Twenty  lines 


•//   FRF.XCI/AfA.V  /AT  AMERICA. 


MS 


about  mc,  and  half  a  colunin  about  that  hat!  It  was 
time  to  come  to  some  lietermination.  It  was  not  to 
be  put  up  with  any  longer.  So  I  took  it  up  tenderly, 
smoothed  it  with  care,  and  laid  it  in  a  neat  box  which 
was  then  posted  to  the  chief  editor  of  the  paper  with 
the  following  note: 

DkarSir: 

I  see  by  your  estimable  paper  that  my  hat  has  attracted  a  good 
deal  of  piibhc  attention  during  its  short  sojourn  in  your  city.  I  am 
even  tempted  to  think  that  it  has  attracted  more  of  it  than  my 
lecture.  I  send  you  the  interesting  headgear,  and  beg  you  will 
accept  it  as  a  souvenir  of  my  visit,  and  with  my  respectful  compli- 
ments. 

A  citizen  of  the  Great  Republic  knows  how  to  take 
a  joke.  The  worthy  editor  inserted  my  letter  in  the 
next  number  of  his  paper,  and  informed  his  readers 
that  my  hat  fitted  him  to  a  nicety,  and  that  he  was 
going  to  have  it  dyed  and  wear  it.  He  further  .said, 
"Max  O'Rell  evidently  thinks  the  song,  'Where  did 
you  get  that  hat?'  was  specially  written  to  annoy 
him,"  and  went  on  to  the  effect  that  "  Max  O'Rell  is 
not  the  only  man  who  does  not  care  to  tell  where  he 
got  his  hat." 

Do  not  run  away  with  the  idea  that  such  nonsense  as 
this  has  no  interest  for  the  American  public.     It  has. 

American  reporters  have  asked  me,  with  the  most 
serious  face  in  the  world,  whether  I  worked  in  the 
morning,  afternoon,  or  evening,  and  what  color  paper 
I  used  i^sic).  One  actually  asked  me  whether  it  was 
true  that  M.  Jules  Claretie  used  white  paper  to  write 
his  novels  on,  and  blue  paper  for  his  newspaper  articles. 
Not  having  the  honor  of  a  personal  acquaintance  with 


t'  I. 


II 

.,11  Hi' 


146 


^   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA,. 


the  director  of  the  Com6die-Fran9ai.se,  I  had  to  confess 
my  inability  to  gratify  my  amiable  interlocutor. 

Look  at  the  advertisements  in  the  newspapers. 
There  you  have  the  bootmaker,  the  hatter,  the  travel- 
ing quack,  publishing  their  portraits  at  f;he  head  of 
their  advertisements.  Why  arc  those  portraits  there, 
if  it  be  not  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  customers  ? 

The  mass  of  personalities,  each  more  trumpery  than 
the  other,  those  details  of  people's  private  life,  and  all 
the  gossip  daily  served  up  in  the  newspapers,  are  they 
not  proof  enough  that  curiosit}^  is  a  characteristic  trait 
of  the  American  ? 

Tliis  curiosity,  which  often  shows  itself  in  the  most 
impossible  questions,  gives  immense  amusement  to 
Europeans.  Unhappily,  it  amuses  them  at  the  ex- 
pense of  well-bred  Americans — people  who  are  as  inno- 
cent of  it  as  the  members  of  the  stiffest  aristocracy  in 
the  world  could  be.  The  English,  especially,  persist 
in  not  distinguishing  Americans  who  are  gentlemen 
from  Americans  who  are  not. 


\ 


And  even  that  easy-going  American  bourgeois,  with 
his  childish  but  good-humored  nature,  they  often  fail 
to  do  justice  to.  They  too  often  look  at  his  curiosity 
as  impertinence  and  ill-breeding,  and  will  not  admit 
that,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  freedom  he  uses 
with  you  is  but  a  show  of  good  feeling,  an  act  of  good- 
fellowship. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  following  little  story : 
An   Anierican  is  seated  in  a  railway  carriage,  and 
opposite  him  is  a  lady  in  deep  mourning,  and  looking  a 
picture  of  sadness;  a  veritable  mater  dolorosa. 


A   FRENCHMAN-  IN  AMERICA. 


147 


<( 


<< 


Lost  a  father  ?  "  begins  the  worthy  fellow. 
No,  sir." 

"  A  mother,  maybe  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"Ah!   a  child  then?" 

"  No,  sir  ;   I  have  lost  my  husband." 

"  Your  husband  !     Ah!     Left  you  comfortable?" 

The  lady,  rather  offended,  retires  to  the  other  end 
of  the  car,  and  cuts  short  the  conversation. 

"  Rather  stuck  up,  this  woman,"  remarks  the  good 
Yankee  to  his  neighbor. 

The  intention  was  good,  if  the  way  of  showing  it 
was  not.  He  had  but  wanted  to  show  the  poor  lady 
the  interest  he  took  in  her. 

After  having  seen  you  two  or  three  times,  the 
American  will  suppress  "  Mr."  and  address  you  by 
your  name  without  any  handle  to  it.  Do  not  say  that 
this  is  ill  placed  familiarity;  it  is  meant  as  an  act  of 
good-fellowship,  and  should  be  received  by  you  as 
such. 

If  you  are  stiff,  proud,  and  stuck-up,  for  goodness' 
sake,  never  go  to  America  :  you  will  never  get  on  there. 
On  the  contrary,  take  over  a  stock  of  simple,  affable 
manners  and  a  good  temper,  and  you  will  be  treated 
as  a  friend  everywhere,  feted,  and  well  looked  after. 

In  fact,  try  to  deserve  a  certificate  of  good-fellow- 
ship,  such  as  the  Clover  Club,  of  Philadelphia,  awards 
to  those  who  can  sit  at  its  hospitable  table  without 
taking  affront  at  the  littje  railleries  leveled  at  them  by 
the  members  of  that  lively  association.  With  people 
of  refinement  who  have  humor,  you  can  indulge  in  a 
joke  at  their  expense.     So  says  La  Bruycre.     Every 


i .:.( 


!  v 


I       : 


I 

ij 

.M 

\ 

1M 

i 

!  ' 

*  H': 


t     \i:. 


t 


nr 


;    i 

.  : 

' 

A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 

visitor  to  America,  who  wants  to  bring  back  a  pleasant 
recollection  of  his  st:^/  there,  should  lay  this  to  heart. 

Such  are  the  impiessions  that  I  fori  led  of  the  Ameri 
can  during  my  first  trip  to  his  country,  and  the  more 
I  think  over  the  matter,  the  more  sure  I  am  that 
they  were  correct.  Ctiriosity  is  his  chief  little  failing, 
and  good-fellowship  his  most  prominent  quality.  This 
is  the  theme  I  will  develop  and  send  to  the  Editor  of 
the  North  American  Revieiv.  I  will  profit  by  having  a 
couple  of  days  to  spend  in  New  York  to  install  myself 
in  a  cosy  corner  of  that  cosiest  of  clubs,  the  "  Players," 
and  there  write  it. 

It  seems  that,  in  the  same  number  of  this  magazine, 
the  same  subject  is  to  be  treated  by  Mr.  Andrew  Lang, 
lie  has  never  seen  Jonathan  at  home,  and  it  will  be  in- 
teresting to  see  what  impressions  he  has  formed  of  him 
abroad.  In  the  hands  of  such  a  graceful  writer,  the 
"typical  American"  is  sure  to  be  treated  in  a  pleasant 
and  interesting  manner. 


DYNAMITE 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


I  AM  Asked  to  Express  Myself  Freely  on 
America— I  Meet  Mrs.  Blank  and  for  the 
First  Time  Hear  of  Mr.  Blank — Beacon  Street 
Society— The  Boston  Clubs. 


.it 


• 


Boston,  January  25. 

IT  amuses  me  to  notice  bow  the  Americans  to  whom 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  being  introduced,  refrain 
from  asking  me  what  I  think  of  America.  But  they 
invariably  inquire  if  the  impressions  of  my  first  visit  are 
confirmed. 

This  afternoon,  at  an  "At  Home,"  I  met  a  lady  from 
New  York,  who  asked  me  a  most  extraordinary  ques- 
tion. 

"I  have  read  *  Jonathan  and  His  Continent,* "  she 
said  to  me.  "  I  suppose  that  is  a  book  of  impressions 
written  for  publication.  But  now,  tell  me  en  confidence, 
what  do  you  think  of  us  ?  " 

"  Is  there  anything  in  that  book,"  I  replied,  **  which 
can  make  you  suppose  that  it  is  not  the  faithful  ex- 
pression of  what  the  author  thinks  of  America  and 
the  Americans?  " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  *'  it  is  so  complimentary,  taken  al- 
together, that  I  must  confess  I  had  a  lurking  suspicion 
of  your  having  purposely  flattered  us  and  indulged  our 

149 


n 


150 


.1  /-R/:xc/f.\r.ix  /x  ./  m  erica. 


Ilfli: 


ii^ 


I 


11' 

Mi- 


"»;  i! 


m 


\t 


.  1 


i 


( 


national  weakness  for  hearing  ourselves  praised,  so  as 
to  make  sure  of  a  warm  reception  for  your  book." 

"  No  doubt,"  I  replied,  "by  writing  a  flattering  book 
on  any  country,  you  would  greatly  increase  your 
chance  of  a  large  sale  in  that  country  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  you  may  write  an  abusive  book  on  any 
country  and  score  a  great  success  among  that  nation's 
neighbors.  For  my  part,  I  have  always  gone  my  own 
quiet  way,  philosophizing  rather  than  opinionating,  and 
when  I  write,  it  is  not  with  the  aim  of  pleasing  any 
particular  public.  I  note  down  what  I  see,  say  what 
I  think,  and  people  may  read  me  or  not,  just  as  they 
please.  But  I  think  I  may  boast,  however,  that  my 
pen  is  never  bitter,  and  I  do  not  care  to  criticise  unless 
I  feel  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy  with  the  subject 
of  my  criticism.  If  I  felt  that  I  could  only  honestly 
say  hard  things  of  people,  I  would  always  abstain 
altogether." 

"  Now,"  said  my  fair  questioner,  "how  is  it  that  you 
have  so  little  to  say  about  our  Fifth  Avenue  folks  ?  Is  it 
because  a'ou  have  seen  very  little  of  them,  or  is  it  be- 
cause you  could  only  have  said  hard  things  of  them  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  saw  a  good  deal  of 
them,  but  what  I  saw  showed  me  that  to  describe  them 
would  be  only  to  describe  polite  society,  as  it  exists  in 
London  and  elsewhere.  Society  gossip  is  not  in  my 
line;  boudoir  and  club  smoking-room  scandal  has  no 
charm  for  me.  Fifth  Avenue  resembles  too  much 
Mayfair  and  Belgravia  to  make  criticism  of  it  worth 
attempting." 

I  knew  this  answer  would  have  the  effect  of  putting 
mc  into  the  l.idy's  good  graces  at  once,  and  I  was  not 


e» 


^4    FREXa/MAy   AV  AMERICA.  15, 

disappointed.     She  accorded  to  me  her  sweetest  smile, 
as  I  bowed  to  her  to  go  and  be  introduced  to  anothe 
lady  by  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

The  next  lady  was  a  Bostonian.     I  had  to  explain  to 


FIFTH   AVENUE   FOLK. 

her  why  I  had  not  spoken  of  Beacon  Street  people 
using  the  same  argument  as  in  the  case  of  Fifth  Avenue 
society,  and  with  the  same  success. 

At  the  same  "At  Home,"   I   had  the   ple-isure  of 


¥ 

n 

^r' 

i 

;| 

\' 

i 


\U- 


fl. 


II 


u 


li 


}  ; 


r'^ 


15a 


.-/   FM/iXcy/A/A.V  LV  AMEKICA. 


meeting  Mrs.  Blank,  whom  I  had  met  many  times  in 
London  and  Paris, 

She  is  one  of  the  crowd  of  pretty  and-clever  women 
whom  America  sends  to  brighten  up  European  society, 
and  who  reappear  in  London  and  Paris  with  the 
regularity  of  the  swallows.  You  meet  them  every- 
where, and  conclude  that  they  must  be  married,  since 


A  TELEPHONE  AND   TICKER. 

they  are  styled  Mrs.  and  not  Miss.  But  whether  they 
are  wives,  widows,  or  divorcees,  you  rarely  think  of  in. 
quiring,  and  you  may  enjoy  their  friendship  for  years 
without  knowing  whether  they  have  a  living  lord  or 
not. 

Mrs.  Blank,  as  I  say,  is  a  most  fascinating  specimen 
of  America's  daughters,  and  to-day  I  find  that  Mr. 
Blank  is  also  very  much  alive,  but  that  the  companions 


A   FRF.XClf.VA.V  /X  AMERICA. 


»53 


of  his  joys  and  sorrows  are  the  telephone  and  the 
ticker ;  in  fact  it  is  thanks  to  his  devotion  to  these 
that  the  wife  of  his  bosom  is  able  to  adorn  European 
society  during  every  recurring  season. 

American  women  have  such  love  for  freedom  and 
are  so  cool-headed  that  their  visits  to  Europe  could 
not  arouse  suspicion  even  in  the  most  malicious. 
But,  nevertheless,  I  am  glad  to  have  heard  of  Mr, 
Blank,  because  it  is  comfortable  to  have  one's  mind  at 
rest  on  these  subjects.  Up  to  now,  whenever  I  had 
been  asked,  as  sometimes  happened,  though  seldom: 
•*  Who  is  Mr.  Blank,  and  where  is  he  ?"  I  had  always 
answered  :  "  Last  puzzle  out !  " 


\ 


Lunched  to-day  in  the  beautiful  Algonquin  Club, 
as  the  guest  of  Colonel  Charles  H.  Taylor,  and  met  the 
editors  of  the  other  Boston  papers,  among  whom  was 
John  Boyle  O'Reilly,*  the  lovely  poet,  and  the  delight- 
ful man.  The  general  conversation  turned  on  two 
subjects  most  interesting  to  me,  viz.,  American  journ- 
alism, and  American  politics.  All  these  gentlemen 
seemed  to  agree  that  the  American  people  take  an 
interest  in  local  politics  only,  but  not  in  imperial 
politics,  and  this  explains  why  the  papers  of  the 
smaller  towns  give  detailed  accounts  of  what  is 
going  on  in  the  houses  of  legislature  of  both  city  and 
State,  but  do  not  concern  themselves  about  what  is 
going  on  in  Washington.  I  had  come  to  that  conclu- 
sion myself,  seeing  that  the  great  papers  of  New  York, 
Boston,  Philadelphia,  Chicago  devoted  columns  to  the 

*  J.  B.  O'Reilly  died  in  1890. 


il! 


1-1^ 

iH'i 


M 


M 
n 

w 


/i.;'  ;■ 


1  •, 
1  i 


[  1 

i. 

1 

i 
1 

i  : 

ill 

154 


^    Fl^F.h'CHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


sayings  and  doings  of  the  political  world  in  London 
and  Paris,  and  seldom  a  paragrapli  to  the  sittings  of 
Congress  in  Washington. 

In  the  morning,  before  lunch,  I  had  called  on  Mr. 
John  Holmes,  the  editor  of  the  Boston  Herald,  and 
there  met  a  talented  lady  who  writes  under  the  noin  de 
plume  of  "  Max  Eliot,"  and  with  whom  I  had  a  delight- 
ful lialf-hour's  chat. 

I  have  had  to-day  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  edi- 
tors of  all  the  Boston  newspapers. 

•  •  •  •  • 

In  the  evening,  I  dined  with  the  members  of  the 
New  England  Club,  who  meet  every  month  to  listen,  at 
dessert,  to  some  interesting  debate  or  lecture.  The 
wine  is  supplied  by  bets.  You  bet,  for  instance,  that 
the  sun  will  shine  on  the  following  Friday  at  half-past 
two.  If  you  lose,  you  are  one  of  those  who  will  have 
to  supply  one,  two,  or  three  bottles  of  champagne  at 
the  next  dinner,  and  so  on.  This  evening  the  lecture, 
or  rather  the  short  address,  was  given  by  Colonel  Charles 
H.  Taylor  on  the  history  of  American  journalism.  I 
was  particularly  interested  to  hear  the  history  of  the 
foundation  of  the  New  York  Herald,  by  James  Gordon 
Bennett,  and  that  of  the  New  York  World,  by  Mr. 
Pulitzer,  a  Hungarian  emigrant,  who,  some  years  ago, 
arrived  in  the  States,  unable  to  speak  English,  became 
jack-of-all-trades,  then  a  reporter  on  a  German  pa- 
per, proprietor  of  a  Western  paper,  and  then  bought 
the  World,  which  is  now  one  of  the  best  paying  con- 
cerns in  the  whole  of  the  United  States.  This  man, 
who,  to  maintain  himself,  not  in  health,  but  just  alive, 
is  obliged  to  be  constantly  traveling,  directs  the  paper 


1 


./    I'REXCIIMAN  LY  AMERICA. 


'55 


by  telegraph  from  Australia,  from  Japan,  from  London, 
or  wherever  he  happens  to  be.  It  is  nothing-  short  of 
marvelous. 


I  finished  the  evening  in  the  St.  Botolph  Club,  and 
I  may  say  that  I  have  to-day  spent  one  of  the  most 
deljghtfu  days  of  my  life,  with  those  charming  and 
irghly  cultured  Bostonians,  who,  a  New  York  witty 
friend  of  mine  declares,  •'  are  educated  beyond  their 
intellects. 


1  I 


m 


1 


:iii 


Ir, 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A  Lively  Sunday  in  Boston  —  Lfxture  in 
THE  Boston  Theater— Dr.  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes — The  Bootii-Modieska  Comblxation. 


M  ■  I  / 


i- 


i  1  ■ 


<< 


•  Boston,  January  26. 

MAX  ELIOT "  devotes  a  charming  and  most 
flattering  article  to  me  in  this  morning's  Her- 
ald, embodying  the  conversation  we  had  together 
yesterday  in  the  Boston  Herald's  office.  Many  thanks, 
Max. 

A  reception  was  given  to  me  this  afternoon  by 
Citizen  Geurge  Francis  Train,  and  I  met  many 
artists,  journalists,  and  a  galaxy  of  charming 
women. 

The  Citizen  is  pronounced  to  be  the  greatest  crank 
on  earth.  I  found  him  decidedly  eccentric,  but  enter- 
taining, witty,  and  a  first-rate  raconteur.  He  shakes 
hands  with  you  in  the  Chinese  fashion — he  shakes 
his  own.  He  has  taken  a  solemn  oath  that  his 
body  shall  never  come  in  contact  with  the  body  of 
any  one. 

A  charming  programme  of  music  and  recitations 
was  gone  through. 

The  invitation  cards  issued  for  the  occasion  speak 
for  themselves. 

13C 


^0^^^r 


:.' 


ii  I 


THE  CITIZEN   SHAKES   HANDS, 


158 


CITIZKN 


y1    /■'A'/:.V(7/.'l/.I.V  /.V  AMERICA, 


GKORcaC  KRANCIS  TRAIN'S 

RL:CEFnON 

To 


CITOYEN  MAX  O'RELL. 
1'.  S.— "  Demons  "  have  check- 
mated "  I'sychos  "  I  Invitations 
canceled  !  "  Hul)  "  Moycotts  Sun- 
Jay  Receptions  !  lioston  half 
centniy  heiund  New  York  and 
Europe's  Elite  S()ci(;ty.  (Ancient 
Athens  still  Ancient !)  Regrets 
and  Regards  !  (lood-by,  Tre- 
mont  !  (The  Proprietors  not  to 
blame.) 

Vide  some  of  his  "  Apothegmic  Works  "  !    (Reviewed  in  Pulitzer's 
New  York  World diX\<\  Cosmos  Press!) 


1- . 


John  Bull  et  Son  He  !  Les  Filles  de  John  Bull !  Les  Chers 
Voisins  I  L'Ami  Macdonald  I  John  Bull,  Junior!  Jonathan  et 
Son  Continent !     L'Eloquence  Francjaise  !  etc. 

YOU  ARE  INVITED  TO  MEET 

this  distinguished  French  Traveler,  Author,  and  Lecturer  (From 
the  land  of  Lafayette,  Rochambeau,  and  De  Grasse), 

AT  MY  SIXTH  "POP-CORN  RECEPTION"! 

SUNDAV,  January   Twenty-Sixth,  From  2  to  7   p.  m. 

(Tremont  House  !) 

Private  Banquet  Hall !  Fifty  "  Notaries  "  ! 

Talent  from  Dozen  Operas  and  Theaters !  All  Stars !  No 
Airs !  No  "  Wall  Flowers  "  !  No  Amens  !  No  Selahs  !  But 
"MUTUAL    ADMIRATION    CLUB    OF    GOOD    FELLOW- 


.7  /'W/;,\(7/j/,/,\'  /,v  .iM/./ac.t, 


'5y 


SHIP"!  No  llomlom  !  No  Formality !  (Dress  as  you  likf  !) 
No  rrof^Mainiiif  I  (I'iannsI  Ct-llos  I  CiuitarsI  Mandolins  I 
lianjos  !  \'it)liii.sl  Harmonicas!  ZithfrsI)  Opera,  Tlicatti 
an(l  I'ress  RtprcscMilfd  ! 

Succeedinjr  Receptions  :  To  Steele  Mackaye  !  Nat  Goodwin  ! 
Count  Zubof  (St.  I'etcrsburj;;  !  I'rima  Donna  Clementina  De 
Vere  (Italy) !  Albany  I'ress  Club  I  (Duly  announced  printed 
invitations  !) 

GEORGE  FRANCIS  TRAIN. 

Tremont  House  for  Winter! 

Psychic  Press  thanks  for  friendly 
notices  of  Sunday  Musicales! 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  "  P.  S."  tliat  the  reception 
could  not  be  held  at  the  Tremont  House;  but  the 
plucky  C'tizcn  did  not  allow  liimself  to  be  beaten,  and 
the  reception  took  place  at  the  liouse  of  a  friend. 

•  •  •  •  ( 

In  the  evening  I  lectured  in  the  lioston  Theater  to 
a  beautiful  audience. 

If  there  is  a  horrible  fascination  about  "  the  man 
who  won't  smile,"  as  I  mentioned  in  a  foregoiti<j 
chapter,  there  is  a  lovely  fascination  about  the  lady 
who  seems  to  enjoy  your  lecture  thorouglily.  You 
watch  the  effects  of  your  remarks  on  her  face,  and  her 
bright,  intellectual  eyes  keep  you  in  good  form  the 
whole  evening;  in  fact,  you  give  the  lecture  to  her.  I 
perhaps  never  felt  the  influence  of  that  face  more 
powerfully  than  to-night.  I  had  spoken  for  a  few 
minutes,  when  Madame  Modjeska,  accompanied  by 
her  husband,  arrived  and  took  a  seat  on  the  first  row 
of  the  orchestra  stalls.  To  be  able  to  entertain  the 
great  tragiUUcnne  became  my  sole  aim,  and  as  soon  as 


f 


i6o 


A   FREXCIIMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


:  P 


h 


I  perceived  that  I  was  successful,  I  felt  perfectly  proud 
and  happy.  I  lectured  to  her  the  whole  evening. 
Her  laughter  and  applause  encouraged  me,  her  beauti- 
ful, intellectual  face  cheered  me  up,  and  I  was  able  to 
introduce  a  little  more  acting  and  by-play  than  usual. 

I  had  had  the  pleasure  of  making  Madame  Mod- 
jeska's  acquaint,  xe  two  years  ago,  during  my  first 
visit  to  the  United  States,  and  it  was  a  great  pleasure 
to  be  able  to  renew  it  after  the  lecture. 

I  will  go  and  see  her  OpJielia  to-morrow  night. 


f 


m 


\ 

■  i 
t 

1  ^ 

:      .W 

,  , 

El  \ 

■ 

p1 

,. 

January  27. 

Spent  the  whole  morning  wandering  about  Boston, 
and  visiting  a  few  interesting  places.  Beacon  Street, 
the  public  gardens,  and  Commonwealth  Avenue  are 
among  the  finest  thoroughfares  I  know.  What  enor- 
mous wealth  is  contained  in  those  miles  of  huge 
mansions  ! 

The  more  I  see  Boston,  the  more  it  strikes  me  as  a 
great  English  city.  It  has  a  character  of  its  own,  as 
no  other  American  city  has,  excepting  perhaps  Wash- 
ington and  Philadelphia.  The  solidity  of  the  build- 
ings, the  parks,  the  quietness  of  the  women's  dresses, 
the  absence  of  the  twang  in  most  of  the  voices,  all 
remind  you  of  England. 

After  lunch  I  called  on  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 
The  "Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table"  is  now  over 
eighty,  buc  he  is  as  young  as  ever,  and  will  die  with  a 
kind  smile  on  his  face  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
I  know  no  more  delightful  talker  than  this  delightful 
man.  You  may  say  of  him  that  every  time  he  talks 
he  says  something.     W^hen  he  asked  me  what  it  was  I 


i 


4- 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


i6i 


had  found  most  interesting  in  America,  I  wished  I 
could  have  answered  :  "  Why,  my  dear  doctor,  to  see 
and  to  hear  such  a  man  as  you,  to  be  sure  I  "  But  the 
doctor  is  so  simple,  so  unaffected,  that  I  felt  an  answer 
of  that  ki:  d,  though  perfectly  sincere,  would  not  have 
been  one  calculated  to  please  him.  The  articles 
"Over  the  Tea  Cups,"  which  he  writes  every  month 
for  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  which  will  soon  appear 
in  book  form,  are  as  bright,  witty,  humorous,  and  phil- 
osophic as  anything  he  ever  wrote.  Long  may  he 
live  to  delight  his  native  land  ! 


In  the  evening  I  went  to  see  Mr.  Edwin  Booth  and 
Madame  Modjeska  in  "  Hamlet."  By  far  the  two 
greatest  tragedians  of  America  in  Shakespeare's 
greatest  tragedy.  I  expected  great  things.  I  had 
seen  Mounet-Suily  in  the  part,  Henry  Irving,  Wilson 
Barrett ;  and  I  remembered  the  witty  French  quatrain, 
published  on  the  occasion  of  Mounct-Sully  attempting 

the  part : 

Sans  Fechter  ni  Riviere 
Le  cas  elaiL  hasardeax; 
Jamais,  non  jamais  sur  terre, 
•  On  n'a  fait  d'Hamlet  sans  eux. 

I  had  seen  Mr.  Booth  three  times  before.  As 
Brutus,  I  thought  he  was  excellent.  As  Richelieu  he 
was  certainly  magnificent  ;  as  [ago  ideally  superb. 

His  Hamlet  was  a  revelation  to  me.  After  seeing 
the  raving //afulet  o(  Mounet-Sully,  the  somber  Hamlet 
of  Irving,  and  the  dreamy  Hamlet  oi  Wilson  Barrett,  I 
saw  this  evening  Hamlet  the  philosopher,  the  rhetori- 
cian. 


I  Ml 


I 


\y\ 

'■<  t!    i,  1 

•m      1 

'      ^li' 

ii 

t .;  >-m 

i 

16  J 


./    J'A'J:\CI/.\/.i\    /.V   .l.]//:A'/CJ. 


Mr.  Booth  is  too  old  to  play  Hamlet  as  he  does, 
that  is  to  say,  without  any  attempt  at  makiiig-up.  He 
puts  on  a  black  wig,  and  that  is  all,  absolutely  all.  It 
is,  however,  a  most  remarkable,  subtle  piece  of  acting 
in  his  hands. 

Madame  Modjeska  was  beautiful  as  Opluiia.  No 
tragedienne  that  I  have  ever  seen  weeps  more  natu- 
rally. In  all  sad  situations  she  makes  the  chords  of 
one's  heart  vibrate,  and  that  without  any  trick  or  arti- 
fice, but  simply  by  the  modulations  of  her  singularly 
sympathetic  voice  and  such  like  natural  means. 

It  is  very  seldom  that  you  can  see  in  America,  out- 
side of  New  York,  more  than  one  very  good  actor  or 
actress  playing  together.  So  you  may  imagine  the 
success  of  such  a  combination  as  Booth-Modjeska. 

Every  night  the  theater  is  packed  from  floor  to  ceil- 
ing, although  the  prices  of  admission  are  doubled. 


:t 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


I 


St.  Joiinskury— The  State  of  Maine— New  Eng- 
land Sei/f-Control— Cold  Climates  AND  Frigid 
Audiences— Where  is  the  Audience? — All 
Drunk  !— A  Reminiscence  of  a  Scotch  Audi- 
ence ON  A  Saturday  Night. 


5/.  JoJinsbury  ( F/.),  January  28. 

ST.  JOHNSBURY  is  a  charming  little  town  perched 
on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  from  w'hich  a  lovely 
scene  of  hills  and  woods  can  be  enjoyed.  »The  whole 
country  is  covered  with  snow,  and  as  I  looked  at  it  in 
the  evening  by  the  electric  light,  the  effect  was  very 
beautiful.  The  town  has  only  six  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, eleven  hundred  of  whom  came  to  hear  my  lec- 
ture to-night.  Which  is  the  European  town  of  six 
thousand  inhabitants  that  would  supply  an  audience 
of  eleven  hundred  people  to  a  literp-y  causvrie} 

St.  Johnsbury  has  a  dozen  churches,  a  public  library 
of  15,000  volumes,  with  a  reading-room  beautifully 
fitted  with  desks  and  perfectly  adapted  for  study.  .\ 
museum,  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  with 
gymnasium,  school-rooms,  reading-rooms,  play-rooms, 
and  a  lecture  hall  capable  of  accommodating  over 
1000  people.  Who,  after  that,  would  consider  himself 
an  exile  if  he  had  to  live  in  St.  Johnsbury?     There  is 


it 


■1! 
II 

a;, 

•f 

t 

1  ! 

i 

:    t         1 


!• 


'   ii 


m 


164 


//    FREXCI/AfA.V   AV  AMERICA. 


more  intellectual  life  in  it  than  in  any  French  town 
outside  of  Paris  and  about  a  dozen  more  large  cities. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Portsea^  January  30. 

I  have  been  in  the  State  of  Maine  for  two  days ;  a 
strange  State  to  be  in,  let  me  tell  you. 

After  addressing  the  Connecticut  audience  in  Meri- 
den  a  few  days  ago,  I  thought  I  had  had  the  experi- 
ence of  the  most  frigid  audience  that  could  possibly 
be  gathered  together.  Last  Tuesday  night,  at  Portsea, 
I  was  undeceived. 

Half-way  between  St.  Johnsbury  and  Portsea,  the 
day  before  yesterday,  I  was  told  that  the  train  would 
be  very  late,  and  would  not  arrive  at  Portsea  before 
half-past  eight.  My  lecti\re  in  that  city  was  to  begin 
at  eight.  The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  send  a  telegram 
to  the  manager  of  the  lecture.  At  the  next  station  I 
sent  the  following : 

"  Train  late.  If  possible,  keep  audience  waiting 
half  an  hour.     Will  dress  on  board." 

I  dressed  in  the  state-room  of  the  parlor-car.  At 
forty  minutes  past  eight  the  train  arrived  at  Portsea. 
I  immediately  jumped  into  a  cab  and  drove  to  the 
City  Hall,  where  the  lecture  was  to  take  place.  The 
building  was  lighted,  but,  as  I  ascended  the  stairs, 
there  was  not  a  person  to  be  seen  or  a  sound  to  be 
heard.  "  The  place  is  deserted,"  I  thought ;  "  and  if 
anybody  came  to  hear  me,  they  have  all  gone." 

I  opened  the  door  of  the  private  room  behind  the 
platform  and  there  found  the  manager,  who  expressed 
his  delight  to  see  me.     I    excused    myself,   and    was 


! 


I 


li 


W    I'KEyCIIMAX  LV  AMERICA. 


i6s 


going  to  enter  into  a 
detailed  explanation 
when  he  interrupted : 

*' Oh,  that's  all  right." 

"What  do  you 
mean? "said  I.  "Have 
you  got  an  audience 
there,  on  the  other  side 
of  that  door? " 

"  Why,  we  have  got 
fifteen  hundred  people." 

"There?"   said    I ,  /j 
pointing  to  the  door. 

"Yes,  on  the  other 
side  of  that  door." 

"  But  I  can't  hear  a 
sound." 

"  I  guess  you  can't. 
But  that's  all  right ; 
they  are  there." 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said, 
"  I  had  better  apologize 
to  them  for  keeping 
them  waiting  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour." 

"  Well,  just  as  you 
please,"  said  the  man- 
ager.    "  I  wouldn't." 

"Wouldn't  you?" 

"  No  ;    I    guess  they 
would  have  waited  another  half-hour  without  showing 
any  sign  of  impatience," 


I  TIP-TOED  OUT. 


i66 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


%i 


m ' 


I  opened  the  door  treni  ing.  My  desk  was  far,  far 
away.  My  manager  was  rij^it ;  the  audience  was  there. 
I  stepped  on  the  platform,  shut  the  door  after  me, 
making  as  little  noise  as  I  could,  and,  walking  on  tiptoe 
so  as  to  wake  up  as  few  people  as  possible,  proceeded 
toward  the  table.  Not  one  person  applauded.  A  few 
people  looked  up  unconcernedly,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  guess 
that's  the  show."  The  rest  seemed  asleep,  although 
their  eyes  were  open. 

Arrived  at  the  desk,  I  faced  the  audience,  and  ven- 
tured a  little  joke,  which  fell  dead  flat. 

I  began  to  realize  the  treat  that  was  in  store  for  me 
that  night. 

I  tried  another  little  joke,  and — missed  fire. 

"  Never  mind,  old  fellow,"  I  said  to  myself ;  "  it's 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  ;  go  ahead." 

And  I  went  on. 

I  saw  a  few  people  smile,  but  not  one  laughed,  al- 
though I  noticed  that  a  good  many  were  holding  their 
handkerchiefs  over  their  mouths,  probably  to  stifle  any 
attempt  at  such  a  frivolous  thing  as  laughter.  The 
eyes  of  the  audience,  which  I  always  watch,  showed 
signs  of  interest,  and  nobody  left  the  hall  until  the 
conclusion  of  the  lecture.  When  I  had  finished,  I 
made  a  small  bow,  when  certainly  fifty  people 
applauded.     I  imagined  they  were  glad  it  was  all  over. 

"  Well,"  I  said  to  the  manager,  when  I  had  returned 
to  the  little  back  room,  "  I  suppose  we  must  call  this  a 
failure." 

"A  failure  !"  said  he  ;  "  it's  nothing  of  the  sort.  Why, 
I  have  never  seen  them  so  enthusiastic  in  my  life  !  " 

I  went  to  the  hotel,  and  tried  to  forget  the  audience 


111  jj 


./    FR/-:.yC//.]f.l.V  IX  AMF'.RICA. 


^C^^ 


I 


I  had  just  had  by  recaUing  to  my  mind  a  joyous  even- 
ing in  Scothind.  This  happened  about  a  year  ago,  in 
a  mining  town  in  the  neighborhood  of  Glasgow,  where 
I  had  been  invited  to  lecture,  on  a  Saturday  night,  to 


th 


dar — Institute. 


e  members  ot  a  popular — very  popular — institul 
I  arrived  at  the  station   from  Glasgow  at  half-past 
seven,  and  there  found  the  secretary  and  the  treasurer  of 


r-i:.f 


.1  111 

I   AM   ESCORTED    I'O   THE   HALL. 

the  Institute,  who  had  been  kind  enough  to  come  and 
meet  me.  Wc  shook  hands.  They  gave  me  a  few 
words  of  welcome.  I  thought  my  friends  looked  a 
little  bit  queer.  Tliey  proposed  that  we  should  walk  to 
the  lecture  hall.  The  secretary  took  my  right  arm,  the 
treasurer  look  my  left,  and,  abreast,  the  three   of  us 


n 


hi' 


I' 


I? 


I!; 


I  r 


if  ■: 


;   \ 


168 


//    FKKXCI/AfAX   //V  AMKKILW. 


proceeded  toward  the  hall.  They  did  not  take  me  to 
that  place ;  /  took  them,  holding  them  fast  all  the  way 
—the  treasurer  especially. 

We  arrived  in  good  time,  although  we  stopped  once 
for  light  refreshment.  At  eight  punctually,  I  entered 
the  hall,  preceded  by  the  president,  and  followed  by 
the  members  of  the  committee.  The  president  intro- 
duced me  in  a  most  queer,  incoherent  speech.  I  rose, 
and  was  vociferously  cheered.  "When  silence  was  re- 
stored, I  said  in  a  calm,  almost  solemn  manner:  "  Ladies 
and  Gentlemen."  This  was  the  signal  for  more  cheer- 
ing and  whistling.  In  France  whistling  means  hissing, 
and  I  began  to  feel  uneasy,  but  soon  1  bore  in  mind 
that  whistling,  in  the  North  of  Great  Britain,  was  used 
to  express  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 

So  I  went  on. 

The  audience  laughed  at  everything  I  said,  and  even 
before  I  said  it.  I  had  never  addressed  such  keen 
people.  They  seemed  so  anxious  to  laugh  and  cheer 
in  the  right  place  that  they  laughed  and  cheered  all 
the  time — so  much  so  that  in  an  hour  and  twenty 
minutes,  I  had  only  got  through  half  my  lecture,  which 
I  had  to  bring  to  a  speedy  conclusion. 

The  president  rose  and  proposed  a  vote  of  thanks  in 
another  most  queer  speech,  which  was  a  new  occasion 
for  cheering. 

When  we  had  retired  in  the  committee  room,  I  said 
to  the  secretary :  "  What's  the  matter  with  the  presi- 
dent? Is  he  quite  right?"  I  added,  touching  my 
forehead. 

'  "Oh!"  said  the  secretary,  striking  his  chest  as 
proudly  as  possible,  "  he  is  drunk — and  so  am  I." 


.-I 


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u 


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tN\^ 


y 


"he's  drunk,  and  so  am  I." 


'I 


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f,  I 


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i  :    ' 


70 


.-/    /■A'/:.\'C7/.U.IX   /.V  ./.)//•. AVC./. 


The  explanation  of  the  whole  strange  evening 
dawned  upon  me.  Of  course  they  were  drunk,  and 
so  was  tlie  audience. 

That  night,  I  believe  I  was  tiie  only  sober  person  on 
the  premises. 


Yesterday,  I  had  an  interesting  chat  with  a  native  of 
the  State  of  Maine  on  the  subject  of  my  lecture  at 
Portsea. 

"  You  are  perfectly  wrong,"  he  said  to  me,  "  in  sup- 
posing that  your  lecture  was  not  appreciated.  I  was 
present,  and  I  can  assure  you  that  the  attentive  silence 
in  which  they  listened  to  you  from  beginning  to  end  is 
the  proof  that  they  appreciated  you.  You  would  also 
be  wrong  in  supposing  that  they  do  not  appreciate 
humor.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  very  keen  of  it, 
and  I  believe  that  the  old  New  Englander  was  the 
father  of  American  humor,  through  the  solemn 
manner  in  which  he  told  comic  things,  and  the 
comic  manner  in  which  he  told  the  most  serious 
ones.  Yes,  they  are  keen  of  humor,  and  their  ap- 
parent want  of  appreciation  is  only  due  to  reserve, 
to  self-control." 

And,  as  an  illustration  of  it,  my  friend  told  me  the 
following  anecdote  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  good 
many  Americans  have  heard  before  : 

Mark  Twain  had  lectured  to  a  Maine  audience  with- 
out raising  a  single  laugh  in  his  listeners,  when,  at  the 
close,  he  was  thanked  by  a  gentleman  who  came  to 
him  in  the  green-room,  to  tell  him  how  hugely  every 
one  had  enjoyed  his  amusing  stories.     When  the  lee- 


//   /•A'/CXajMAX  /X  llMERlCA. 


»n 


turer  expressed  his  surprise  at  this  announcement, 
added'   ""^    ''""^    """'    ^'"^^''"''    "^'   gentleman 

••  Yes  we  never  were  so  amused  in  our  hVes,  and  if 
you  had  gone  on  five  minutes  more,  upon  my  word 
1  don  t  think  we  could  hav.  held  out  any  longer." 

buch  IS  New  England  self-control. 


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CHAPTER  XIX. 


I'M-  >lv'i 

I'M  it  M 


m.'i 


Ir 


A  Lovely  Ride  to  Canada— Quebec,  a  Corner 
OF  Old  France  Strayed  up  and  Lost  in  the 
Snow— The  French  Canadians— The  Parties 
IN  Canada — Will  the  Canadians  Become  Yan- 
kees? 


Montreal,  February  i. 

THE  ride  from  the  State  of  Maine  to  Montreal  is 
very  picturesque,  even  in  the  winter.  It  offers 
you  four  or  five  hours  of  Alpine  scenery  through  the 
American  Switzerland.  The  White  Mountains,  com- 
manded by  Mount  Washington,  are,  for  a  distance  of 
about  forty  miles,  as  wild  and  imposing  as  anything 
the  real  Switzerland  can  supply  tho:  tourist.  Gorges, 
precipices,  torrents,  nothing  is  wanfing. 

Nearly  the  whole  time  we  journeyed  across  pine 
forests,  coming,  now  and  then,  across  saw  mills,  and 
little  towns  looking  like  bee-hives  of  activity.  Now 
there  was  an  opening,  and  frozen  rivers,  covered  with 
snow,  formed,  with  the  fields,  a  huge  uniform  mass  of 
dazzling  whiteness.  The  effect,  under  a  pure  blue  sky 
and  in  a  perfectly  clear  atmosphere,  was  very  beautiful. 
Now  the  country  became  hilly  again.  On  the  slopes, 
right  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  we  r  iW  Berlin 
Falls,  bathing  its  feet  in  the  river.  The  yellow  houses 
with  their  red  roofs  and  gables,  rest  the  eyes  from  that 

«7« 


!i 


A   FA'KXC/lArAX  LV  AMERICA. 


I'/3 


long  stretch  of  blue  and  white.  How  beautiful  this 
town  and  its  surroundings  must  he  in  the  fall,  when 
Dame  Nature  in  America  puts  on  her  cloak  of  gold 
and  scarlet !  All  the  cou'itry  on  the  line  we  traveled 
is  engaged  in  the  lumber  trade. 

For  once  I  had  an  amiable  conductor  in  the  parlor 
car ;  even  more  than 
amiable — quite  friendly 
and  familiar.  He  put 
his  arms  on  my  shoul- 
ders and  got  quite  pa- 
tronizing. I  did  not 
mind  that  a  bit.  I  hate 
anonymous  landscapes, 
and  he  explained  and 
named  everything  to 
me.  My  innocence  of 
American  things  in 
general  touched  him. 
He  was  a  great  treat 
after  those  "  ill-licked 
bears "  that  you  so 
often   come    across    in 

the  American  cars.  He  went  further  than  that 
kindly  recommended  me  to  the  Canadian  custom- 
house officers,  when  we  arrived  at  the  frontier,  and 
the  examination  of  my  trunk  and  valise  did  not  last 
half  a  minute. 

Altogether,  the  long  journey  passed  rapidly  and 
agreeably.  We  were  only  two  people  in  the  parlor 
car,  and  my  traveling  companion  proved  a  very  pleas- 
ant man.     First,  I  did  not  care  for  the  look  of  him. 


THE   AMIABLE   CONDUCTOR. 


he 


!'; 


174 


A    FRENCIIMAX  I.V  AMERICA. 


!i '' 


i-rHi 


u:'  m 


^1-     i! 


Jf.i  •  ■, 


X 


He  had  a  new  silk  hat  on,  a  multicolored  satin  cravat 
with  a  huge  diamond  pin  fixed  in  it;  a  waistcoat  cov- 
ered with  silk  embroidery  work,  green,  blue,  and  pink; 
a  coat  with  silk  facings,  patent-leather  boots.  Alto- 
gether, he  was  rather  dressed  for  a  garden  party  (in 
more  than  doubtful  taste)  than  for  a  fifteen  hours' rail- 
way jourue)'.  JUit  in  America  the  cars  are  so  luxurious 
and  kept  so  warm  that  traveling  dresses  are  not  known 
in  the  country.  Ulsters,  cloaks,  rugs,  garments  made 
of  tweed  and  rough  materials,  all  these  things  are  un- 
necessary and  therefore  unknown.  I  soon  found  out, 
however,  that  this  quaintly  got-up  man  was  interesting 
to  speak  to.  He  knew  every  bit  of  the  country  we 
passed,  and,  being  easily  drawn  out,  he  poured  into  my 
ears  information  that  was  as  rapid  as  it  was  valuable.  He 
was  well  read  and  had  been  to  Europe  several  tim'^s. 
He  spoke  of  France  with  great  enthusiasm,  which  en- 
rolled my  sympathy,  and  he  had  enjoyed  my  lecture, 
which,  you  may  imagine,  secured  for  his  intelligence 
and  his  good  taste  my  boundless  admiration.  When 
we  arrived  at  Monti eal,  we  were  a  pair  of  friends. 

•  •  •  •  ■ 

I  begin  my  Canadian  tour  here  on  Monday  and  then 
shall  go  West.  I  was  in  Quebec  two  years  ago;  but 
the  dear  old  place  is  not  on  my  list  this  time.  No 
words  could  express  my  regret.  I  shall  never  forget 
my  feelings  on  landing  under  the  great  cliff  on  which 
stands  the  citadel,  and  on  driving,  bumped  along  in  a 
sleigh  over  the  half-thawed  snow,  in  the  street  that 
lies  under  the  fortress,  and  on  through  the  other  quaint 
winding  steep  streets,  and  again  under  the  majestic 
archways  to  the  upper  town,  where  I  was  set  down  at 


A    /'REXC/LMAX  /.V  AMERICA. 


I7S 


the  door  of  the  Florence,  a  quiet,  delightful  little  hotel 
that  the  visitor  to  Quebec  should  not  fail  to  stop  at,  if 
he  like  home  comforts  and  care  to  enjoy  magnificent 
scenery  from  his  window.  It  seemed  as  though  I  v/as 
in  France,  in  my  dear  old  Brittany.  It  looked  like  St. 
Malo  strayed  up  here  and  lost  in  the  snow.  The  illu- 
sion became  complete  when  I  saw  the  gray  houses, 
heard  the  people  talk  with  the  Breton  intonation,  and 
saw  over  the  shops  Langlois,  Maillard,  Clouet,  and  all 
the  names  familiar  to  my  childhood.  But  why  say 
"illusion"?  It  was  a  fact:  I  was  in  France.  These 
f<^lks  have  given  their  faith  to  England,  but,  as  the 
Canadian  poet  says,  they  have  kept  their  hearts  for 
France.  Not  only  their  hearts,  but  their  mani'crs  and 
their  language.  Oh,  there  was  such  pleasure  in  it  all  I 
The  lovely  weather,  the  beautiful  scenery,  the  kind  wel- 
come given  to  me,  the  delight  of  seeing  these  children 
of  Old  France,  more  than  three  thousand  miles  from 
home,  happy  and  thriving — a  feast  for  the  eyes,  a  feast 
for  the  heart.  And  the  drive  to  Montmorency  Falls 
in  the  sleigh,  gliding  smoothly  along  on  the  hard  snow! 
And  the  sleighs  laden  with  wood  for  the  Quebec  folks, 
the  carmen  stimulating  their  horses  with  a  hue  la  or  Jiuc 
done!  And  the  return  to  the  Florence,  where  a  good 
dinner  served  in  a  private  room  awaited  us  !  And  that 
polite,  quiet,  attentive  French  girl  who  waited  on  us, 
the  antipodes  of  the  young  Yankee  lady  who  makes 
you  sorry  that  breakfasting  and  dining  are  necessary, 
in  some  American  hotels,  and  whose  waiting  is  like 
taking  sand  and  vinegar  with  your  food  ! 

The  mere  spanking  along  through   the  cold,  brisk 
ail,  when  you  ar«  well  muffled  in  furs  is  exhilarating. 


111   ^ 


In 


1 


w 


i: 


m 


r     ,  ■- 

''if 


;:!  ill  . 

'  f   1?'!      I 


»•  v.  ■ 


[I  ;    ;  ;  ■ 
If 


IP 


176 


y^    FRENCHMAN  /iV  AMKKICA. 


especially  when  the  sun  is  shining  in  a  cloudless  blue 
skj'.  The  beautiful  scenery  at  Quebec  was,  besides,  a 
feast  for  eyes  tired  with  the  monotonous  flatness  of 
America.  The  old  city  is  on  a  perfect  mountain,  and 
as  we  came  bumping  down  its  side  in  our  sleigh  over 
the  roads  which  were  there  in  a  perfect  state  of  sher- 
bet, there  was  a  lovely  picture  spread  out  in  front  of 


I 

"  IITAT  QUIET,   ATTENTIVE  FRENCH   CilRL. 

us.  In  the  distance  the  bluest  mountains  I  ever  saw 
(to  paint  them  one  must  use  pure  cobalt);  away  to  the 
right  the  frozen  St.  Lawrence  and  the  Isle  of  Orleans, 
all  snow-covered,  of  course,  but  yet  distinguishable 
from  the  farm  lands  of  Jacques  Bonhomme,  whose 
cosy,  clean  cottages  we  soon  began  to  pass.  The  long, 
ribbon-like  strips  of  farm  were  indicated  by  the  tops  of 
the  fences  peeping  through  the  snow,  and  told  us  of 
French  thrift  and  prosperity. 


.-/    rREiXCIIMAX  IX  AMERICA. 


-^11 


Yes,  it  was  all  delightful.  When  I  left  Quebec  I  felt 
as  much  regret  as  I  do  every  time  that  I  leave  my  little 
native  town. 


It 


I  have  been  told  that  the  works  of  Voltaire  are  pro- 
hibited in  Quebec,  not  so  much  because  they  are  irre- 
ligious as  because  they  were  written  by  a  man  who, 
after  the  loss  of  Quebec  to  the  French  Crown,  ex- 
claimed: "Let  us  not  be  concerned  about  the  loss  of 
a  few  acres  of  snow."  The  memory  of  Voltaire  is 
execrated,  and  for  having  made  a  flattering  reference 
to  him  on  the  platform  in  Montreal  two  years  ago,  I 
was  near  being  "  boycotted"  by  the  French  popula- 
tion. 

The  French  Canadians  take  very  little  interest  in 
politics — I  mean  in  outside  politics.  They  are  steady, 
industrious,  saving,  peaceful,  and  so  long  as  the  Eng- 
lish leave  them  alone,  in  the  safe  enjoyment  of  their 
belongings,  the/  will  not  give  them  cause  for  any 
anxiety.  Among  the  French  Canadians  there  is  no 
desire  for  annexation  to  the  United  States.  Indeed, 
during  the  War  of  Independence,  Canada  was  saved  to 
the  English  Crown  by  the  French  Canadians,  not  be- 
cause the  latter  loved  the  English,  but  because  they 
hated  the  Yankees.  When  Lafayette  took  it  for 
granted  that  the  French  Canadians  would  rally  round 
his  flag,  he  made  a  great  mistake;  they  would  have,  if 
compelled  to  fight,  used  their  bullets  against  the 
Americans.  If  they  had  their  own  way,  the  French  in 
Canada  would  set  up  a  little  country  of  their  own 
under  the  rule  of  the  Catholic  Church,  a  little  corner 
of  France  two  hundred  years  old. 


!:  I: 


17-i 


./  /■-A/..\c7/.]/.LV  /.v  jm/:k/c.l 


The  education  of  the  lower  classes  is  at  a  very  low 
stage;  thirty  per  cent,  of  the  cliildrcn  of  school  aj^c  in 
Quebec  do  not  attend  school.  The  English  dare  not 
introduce  gr.ituitous  and  cor."«pulsory  education.  They 
have  an  understanding  with  the  Catholic  Church, 
which  insists  upon  exercising  entire  control  over  public 
education.  The  Quebec  schools  are  little  more  than 
branches  of  the  confessional  box.  The  English  shut 
their  eyes,  for  part  of  the  undcistanding  with  the 
Church  is  that  the  latter  will  keep  loyalty  to  the  Eng- 
lish Crown  alive  among  her  submissive  flock. 

The  tyranny  exercised  by  the  Catholic  Church  may 
easily  be  imagined  from  the  following  newspaper  ex- 
tract : 

A  well-to-do  butcher  of  Montreal  atteiuled  the  Catholic  Church 
at  He  Perrault  last  Sunday.  He  was  suffering  at  the  time  with 
acute  cramps,  and  when  that  part  of  the  service  arrived  during 
which  the  congregation  kneel,  he  found  himself  unable  to  do  more 
than  assume  a  reclining  devotional  position,  with  one  knee  on  the 
floor.  His  action  was  noticed,  and  the  church-warden,  in  concert 
with  others,  had  him  brought  before  the  court  charged  with  an  act 
of  irreverence,  and  he  was  fined  $8  and  costs. 

Such  a  judgment  does  not  only  expose  the  tyranny 
of  the  Catholic  Church,  but  the  complicity  of  the 
English,  who  uphold  Romanism  in  the  Province  of 
Quebec  as  they  uphold  Buddhism  in  India,  so  as  not 
to  endanger  the  security  of  their  possessions. 

The  French  Canadians  are  multiplying  so  rapidly 
that  in  a  very  few  years  the  Province  of  Quebec  will 
be  as  French  as  the  town  of  Quebec  itself.  Everyday 
they  push  their  advance  from  east  to  west.  They 
generally  marry  very  young.     When  a  lad   is  seen  in 


TF 


//    FA'EXC//M.i\   LV  .I.U/-A7C,I. 


179 


the  company  of  a  girl,  he  is  asked  by  tlic  priest  if  lie  is 
courting  that  girl.  In  wliich  case  he  is  bidden  to  go 
straightway  to  the  altar,  and  these  young  couples  rear 


AN   INTERVIEW   WITH   THK    TRIFST. 


families  of  twelve  and  fifteen  children,  none  of  whom 
leave  the  country.  The  English  have  to  make  room 
for  them. 


I'l 


■   ■ 


F     i 
if' 


^^\ 


Hi 


I' 


lit 


5;i- 


W    I 


l[,  .■ 


li. 


■1. 


Si 


1 80 


J    FKEXCI/MAX  fX  AMERICA. 


TIic  average  attendance  in  Catholic  churches  on 
Sundays  in  Montreal  is  1 1 1,483  ;  in  the  sixty  churches 
that  belong  to  the  different  Protestant  denominations, 
the  average  attendance  is  34,428.  The  former  num- 
ber has  been  steadily  increasing,  the  latter  steadily  de- 
creasing. 

•  •  •  •  • 

What  is  the  future  reserved  to  French  Canada,  and 
indeed  to  the  whole  Dominion  ? 

There  are  only  two  political  parties.  Liberals  and 
Conservatives,  but  I  find  the  population  divided  into 
four  camps :  Those  in  favor  of  Canada,  an  indepen- 
dent nation  ;  those  in  favor  of  the  political  union  of 
Canada  and  the  United  States  ;  those  in  favor  of  Can- 
ada going  into  Imperial  Federation,  and  those  in  favor 
of  Canada  remaining  an  English  colony,  or  in  other 
words,  in  favor  of  the  actual  state  of  things. 

Of  course  the  French  Canadians  are  dead  against 
going  into  Imperial  Federation,  which  would  simply 
crush  them,  and  Canadian  "  society  "  is  in  favor  of  re- 
maining English.  The  other  Canadians  seem  pretty 
equally  divided. 

It  must  be  said  that  the  annexation  idea  has  been 
making  rapid  progress  of  late  years,  among  prominent 
men  as  well  as  among  the  people.  The  Americans 
will  never  fire  one  shot  to  have  the  idea  realized.  If 
ever  the  union  becomes  an  accomplished  fact,  it  will  be- 
come so  with  the  assent  of  all  parties.  The  task  will 
be  made  easy  through  Canada  and  the  United  States 
having  the  same  legislature.  The  local  and  provincial 
governments  are  the  same  in  the  Canadian  towns  and 
provinces   as  they  are  in  the    American    towns  and 


./    IKENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


i8i 


States — a  House  of  Representatives,  a  Senate,  and  a 
Governor,  with  this  difference,  this  great  difference, 
to  the  present  advantage  of  Canada :  whereas  every 
four  years  the  Americans  elect  a  new  master,  who  ap- 
points a  ministry  responsible  to  himself  alone,  the 
Canadians  have  a  ministry  responsible  to  their  parlia- 
ment, that  is,  to  themselves.  The  representation  of 
the  American  people  at  Washington  is  democratic,  but 
the  government  is  autocratic.  In  Canada,  both  legis- 
lature and  executive  are  democratic,  as  in  England, 
that  greatest  and  truest  of  all  democracies. 

The  change  in  Canada  would  have  to  be  made  on 
the  American  plan. 

With  the  exception  of  Quebec  and  parts  of  Mon- 
treal, Canada  is  built  like  America  ;  the  country  has 
the  same  aspect,  the  currency  is  the  same.  Suppress 
the  Governor-General  in  Ottawa,  who  is  there  to  re- 
mind Canada  that  she  is  a  dependency  of  the  English 
Crown,  strew  the  country  with  more  cuspidores,  and 
you  have  part  of  Jonathan's  big  farm. 


m 


:\ 


%'.i' 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Montreal— Thp:  City-  Mount  Royal— Canadian 
Sports  —  Ottawa — The  Government— Rideau 
Hall.  .  

Montreal,  February  2. 

MONTREAL  is  a  large  and  well-built  city,  con- 
taining many  buildings  of  importance,  mostly 
churches,  of  which  about  thirty  are  Roman  Catholic, 
and  over  sixty  are  devoted  to  Protestant  worship,  in 
all  its  branches  and  variations,  from  the  Anglican 
church  to  the  Salvation  Army. 

I  arrived  at  a  station  situated  on  a  level  with  the 
St.  Lawrence  River.  From  it,  we  mounted  in  an  om- 
nibus up,  up,  up,  through  narrow  streets  full  of  shops 
with  Breton  or  Norman  names  over  them,  as  in  Que- 
bec ;  on  through  broader  ones,  where  the  shops  grew 
larger  and  the  names  became  more  frequently  English  ; 
on,  on,  till  I  thought  Montreal  had  no  end,  and,  at  last 
alighted  on  a  great  square,  and  found  myself  at  the 
door  of  the  Windsor  Hotel,  an  enormous  and  fine 
construction,  which  has  proved  the  most  comfortable, 
and,  in  every  respect  the  best  hotel  I  have  yet  stopped 
at  on  the  great  American  continent.  It  is  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  my  bedroom  to  the  dining-hall, 
which  could,  I  believe,  accommodate  nearly  a  thousand 
guests. 

My  first  visit  was  to  an  afternoon  "  At  Home,"  given 

i8a 


T 


//   I'KEiXCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


183 


by  the  St.  Geoige's  Club,  who  have  a  club-house  high 
up  on  Mount  Royal.  It  was  a  ladies'  day,  and  there  was 
music,  dancing,  etc.  We  went  in  a  sleigh  up  the  very 
steep  hill,  much  to  my  astonishment.  I  should  have 
thought  the  thing  practically  impossible.  On  our  way 
we  passed  a  toboggan  slide  dov/n  the  side  of  Mount 
Royal.  It  took  my  breath  away  to  think  of  coming 
down  it  at  the  rate 
of  over  a  mile  a  min- 
ute. The  view  from 
the  club-house  was 
splendid,  taking  in  a 
great  sweep  of  snow- 
covered  country,  the 
city  and  the  frozen 
St.  Lawrence.  There 
are  daily  races  on  the 
river,  and  last  year 
they  ran  tram-cars 
on  it. 

It  was  odd  to  hear 
the  phrase,  "  after  the  flood."  When  I  came  lo 
inquire  into  it,  I  learned  that  when  the  St.  Lawrence 
ice  breaks  up,  the  lower  city  is  flooded,  and  this  is 
yearly  spoken  of  as  "  the  flood." 

I  drove  back  from  the  club  with  my  manager  and 
two  English  gentlemen,  who  are  here  on  a  visit.  As 
we  passed  the  toboggan  slide,  my  manager  told  me  of 
an  old  gentleman  over  sixty,  who  delights  in  those 
breathless  passages  down  the  side  of  Mount  Royal. 
One  may  see  h!m  out  there  *'  at  it,"  as  early  as  ten  in 
the  morning.     Plenty  of  people,  however,  try  one  ride 


THE  OLD  GENTLEMAN  AND  TKE 
TOBOGGAN  SLIDE. 


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184 


A   FKEXCIJMAN.  IN  AMERICA. 


and  never  ask  for  another.  One  gentleman  my  man- 
ager told  me  of,  after  having  tried  it,  expressed  pretty 
well  the  feelings  of  many  others.  He  said,  "  I  wouldn't 
do  it  again  for  two  thousand  dollars,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  it  for  three."  I  asked  one  of  the  two  Eng- 
lishmen who  accompanied  us,  whether  he  had  had  a 

try.  He  was  a 
quiet',  solemn, 
middle-aged  Eng- 
lishman. "Well," 
he  said,  "yes,  I 
have.  It  had  to 
be  done,  and  I 
did  it." 

Last  night  I  was 
most  interested  in 
watching  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Snow- 
siioe  Club  start 
from  the  Windsor, 
on  a  kind  of  a 
picnic  over  the 
country.  Their 
costumes  were 
very  picturesque; 
a  rjhort  tunic  of  woolen  material  fastened  round  the 
waist  by  a  belt,  a  sort  of  woolen  nightcap,  with  tassel 
failing  on  the  shoulder,  thick  woolen  stockings,  and 
knickerbockers. 

In  Russia  and  the  northern  parts  of  the  United  States, 
the  people  say  :  "  It's  too  cold  to  go  out."  In  Canada, 
they  say  :  "  It's  very  cold,  let's  all  go  out."     Only  rain 


A   SNOWSHOER. 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


I«^5 


w 


keeps  them  indoors.  In  the  coldest  vveatlier,  with  a  tem- 
perature of  many  degrees  below  zero,  you  have  great 
difficulty  in  jfinding  a  closed  carriage.  All,  or  nearly 
all,  are  open  sleighs.  The  driver  wraps  you  up  in 
furs,  and  as  you  go,  gliding  on  the  snow,  your  face  is 
whipped  by  the  cold  air,  you  feel  glowing  all  over 
with  warmth,  and  altogether  the  sensation  is  delightful. 
This  morning,  Joseph  Howarth,  the  talented  Ameri- 
can actor,  breakfasted  with  me  and  a  few  friends. 
Last  night,  I  went  to  see  him  play  in  Steele  Mackaye's 
"  Paul  Kauvar."  Canada  has  no  actors  worth  mention- 
ing, and  the  people  here  depend  on  American  artists 
for  all  their  entertainments.  It  is  wonderful  how  the 
feeling  of  independence  engenders  and  develops  the 
activity  of  the  mind  in  a  country.  Art  and  liter- 
ature want  a  home  of  their  own,  and  do  not  flourish  in 
other  people's  houses.  Canada  has  produced  nothing 
in  literature  :  the  only  two  poets  she  can  boast  are 
French,  Louis  Frechette  and  Octave  Cr^mazie.  It  is 
not  because  Canada  has  no  time  for  brain  productions. 
America  is  just  as  busy  as  she  is,  felling  forests  and 
reclaiming  the  land  ;  but  free  America,  only  a  hundred 
years  old  as  a  nation,  possesses  already  a  list  of  his- 
torians, novelists,  poets,  and  essayists,  that  would  do 
honor  to  any  nation  in  the  world. 


( 


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February  4. 

I  had  capital  houses  in  the  Queen's  Hall  last  night 
and  to-night. 

The  Canadian  audiences  are  more  demonstrative 
than  the  American  ones,  and  certainly  quite  as  keen 
and  appreciative.     When  you  arrive  on  the  platform 


1 86 


A   FRENCHMAN-  IN  AMERICA. 


they  are  glad  to  see  you,  and  they  let  you  know  it ;  a 
fact  which  in  America,  in  New  England  especially, 
you  have  to  find  out  for  yourself. 

Montreal  possesses  a  very  wealthy  and  fashionable 
community,  and  what  strikes  me  most,  coming  as  I  do 
from  the  United  States,  is  the  stylish  simplicity  of  the 
women.  I  am  told  that  Canadian  women  in  their 
tastes  and  ways  have  always  been  far  more  English 
than  American,  and  that  the  fashions  have  grown 
more  and  more  simple  since  Princess  Louise  gave  the 
example  of  always  dressing  quietly  when  occupying 
Rideau  Hall  in  Ottawa. 


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Ottawa,  February  5. 

One  of  the  finest  sights  I  have  yet  seen  in  this 
country  was  from  the  bridge  on  my  way  from  the 
station  to  the  Russell  this  morning.  On  the  right  the 
waterfalls,  on  the  left,  on  the  top  of  a  high  and  almost 
perpendicular  rock,  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  a  grand 
pile  of  buildings  in  gray  stone,  standing  out  clear 
against  a  cloudless,  intense  blue  sky.  The  Russell  is 
one  of  those  huge  babylonian  hotels  so  common  on 
the  American  continent,  where  unfortunately  the 
cookery  is  not  on  a  level  with  the  architectural  preten- 
sions ;  but  most  of  the  leading  Canadian  politicians  are 
boarding  here  while  Parliament  is  sitting,  and  I  am 
interested  to  see  them. 

After  visiting  the  beautiful  library  and  other  parts 
of  tlie  government  buildings,  I  had  the  good  luck  to 
hear,  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  a  debate  be- 
tween Mr.  Cha[)leau,  a  minister  and  one  of  the  leaders 
of  the  Conservatives  now  in  office,  and  Mr.  Laurier, 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


187 


one  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Opposition.  Both  gentlemen 
are  French.  It  was  a  fight  between  a  tribune  and  a 
scholar ;  between  a  short,  thickset,  long-maned  lion, 
and  a  tall,  slender,  delicate  fox. 

After  lunch,  I  went  to  Rideau  Hall,  the  residence  of 
the  Governor-General,  Lord  Stanley  of  Preston.     The 


"the  radiant,  lovely  canadienne." 

executive  mansion  stands  in  a  pretty  park  well  wooded 
with  firs,  a  mile  out  of  the  town.  His  Excellency  was 
out,  but  his  aid-de-camp,  to  whom  4  had  a  letter  of 
introduction,  most  kindly  showed  me  over  the  place. 
Nothing  can  be  more  simple  and  unpretentious  than 
the  interior  of  Rideau  Hall.  It  is  furnished  like  any 
comfortable  little  provincial  hotel  patronized  by  the 
gentry  of  the  neighborhood.     The  panels  of  the  draw- 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


ing-room  were  painted  by  Princess  Louise,  when  she 
occupied  the  house  with  the  Marquis  of  Lome  some 
eight  or  ten  years  ago.  This  is  the  only  touch  of 
luxury  about  the  place.  In  the  time  of  Lord  Dufferin, 
a  ball-room  and  a  tennis  court  were  added  to  the  build- 
ing, and  these  are  among  the  many  souvenirs  of  his 
popular  rule.  As  a  diplomatist,  as  a  viceroy,  and  as 
an  ambassador,  history  will  one  day  record  that  this 
noble  son  of  Erin  never  made  a  mistake. 

In  the  evening,  I  lectured  in  the  Opera  House  to  a 
large  audience. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Kingston^  February  6. 

This  morning,  at  the  Russell,  I  was  called  at  the 
telephone.  It  was  His  Excellency,  who  was  asking  me 
to  lunch  at  Rideau  Hall.  I  felt  sorry  to  be  obliged  to 
leave  Ottawa,  and  thus  forego  so  tempting  an  invita- 
tion. 

Kingston  is  a  pretty  little  town  on  the  border  of 
Lake  Ontario,  possessing  a  university,  a  penitentiary, 
and  a  lunatic  asylum,  in  neither  of  which  I  made  my 
appearance  to-night.  But  as  soon  as  I  had  started 
speaking  on  the  platform  of  the  Town  Hall,  I  began  to 
think  the  doors  of  the  lunatic  asylum  had  been  care- 
lessly left  open  that  night,  for  close  under  the  window 
behind  the  platform,  there  began  a  noise  which  was 
like  Bedlam  let  loose.  Bedlam  with  trumpets  and 
other  instruments  of  torture.  It  was  impossible  to  go 
on  with  the  lecture,  so  I  stopped.  On  inquiry,  the 
unearthly  din  was  found  to  proceed  from  a  detachment 
of  the  Salvation  Army  outside  the  building.     After 


•il- 


!i; 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMENICA. 


189 


some  parleying,  they  consented  to  move  on  and  storm 
some  other  citadel. 

But  it  was  a  stormy  evening,  and  peace  was  not  yet. 


A    SALVATIONIST. 


As  soon  as  I  had   fairly  restarted,  a  person  in  the 
audience   began    to   show   signs   of   disapproval,  and 


Vi 


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Hi; 


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ii 


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190 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


twice  or  thrice  he  gave  vent  to  his  disapproval  rather 
loudly. 

I  was  not  surprised  to  learn,  at  the  close  of  the  even- 
ing, that  this  individual  had  come  in  with  a  free  pass. 
He  had  been  admitted  on  the  strength  of  his  being  an- 
nounced to  give  a  "  show  "  of  some  sort  himself  a  week 
later  in  the  hall. 

If  a  man  is  inattentive  or  creates  a  disturbance  at 
any  performance,  you  may  take  it  for  granted  that  his 
ticket  was  given  to  him.     He  never  paid  for  it. 

To-morrow  I  go  to  Toronto,  where  I  am  to  give  two 
lectures.  I  had  not  time  to  see  that  city  properly  on 
my  last  visit  to  Canada,  and  all  my  friends  prophesy 
that  I  shall  have  a  good  time. 

So  does  the  advance  booking,  I  understand. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Toronto-The  City-The  Ladies-The  Sports 
—Strange  Contrasts-The  Canadian  Schools, 


Toronto,  February  9. 
TT  AVE  passed  three  very  pleasant  days  in  this  city, 
A  X    and  had  two  beautiful  audiences  in  the  Pavilion' 
Toronto  is  a  thoroughly  American  city  in  appear- 
ance, but  only  in  appearance,  for  I  f^nd  the  inhabitants 
British   in   heart,  in   tastes,  and   habits.     When  I  say 
that  it  is  an  American  city,  I  mean  to  say  that  Toronto 
IS  a  large  area,  covered  with  blocks  of  parallelograms 
and  dirty  streets,  overspread  with  tangles  of  telegraph 
and  telephone  wires.     The  hotels  are  perfectly  Ameri- 
can  in  every  respect. 

The  suburbs  are  exceedingly  pretty.  Here  once 
more  are  fine  villas  standing  in  large  gardens,  a  sight 
rarely  seen  near  an  American  city.  It  reminds  me  of 
England.  I  admire  many  buildings,  the  University* 
especially.  ' 

English-looking,  too,  are  the  rosy  faces  of  the  To- 
ronto  ladies  whom  I  passed  in  my  drive.  How  charm- 
ing  they  are  with  the  peach-like  bloom  that  their  out- 
door exercise  gives  them  ! 

I  should  like  to  be  able  to  describe,  as  it  deserves, 

*  Destroyed  by  fire  three  days  after  I  left  Toronto. 

191 


I  ; 


I  i 


i< 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


the  sight  of  these  Canadian  women  in  their  sleighs,  as 
the  horses  fly  along  with  bells  merrily  jingling,  the 
coachman  in  his  curly  black  dogskin  and  huge  busby 
on  his  head.  Furs  float  over  the  back  of  the  sleigh, 
and,  in  it,  muffled  up  to  the  chin  in  sumptuous  skins 
and  also  capped  in  furs,  sits  the  radiant,  lovely  Cana- 
dienne,  the  milk  and  roses  of  her  complexion  enhanced 
by  the  proximity  of  the  dark  furs.  As  they  skim  past 
over  the  white  snow,  under  a  glorious  sunlit  blue  sky, 
I  can  call  to  mind  no  prettier  sight,  no  more  beautiful 
picture,  to  be  seen  on  this  huge  continent,  so  far  as  I 
have  got  yet. 

One  cannot  help  being  struck,  on  coming  here  from 
the  United  States,  at  the  number  of  lady  pedestrians 
in  the  streets.  They  are  not  merely  shopping,  I  am 
assured,  nor  going  straight  from  one  point  to  another 
of  the  town,  but  taking  their  constitutional  walks  in 
true  English  fashion.  My  impresario  took  me  in  the 
afternoon  to  a  club  for  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and 
there  I  had  the,  to  me,  novel  sight  of  a  game  of  hockey. 
On  a  large  frozen  pond  chere  was  a  party  of  young 
people  engaged  in  this  graceful  and  invigorating  game, 
and  not  far  off  was  a  group  of  little  girls  and  boys  im- 
itating their  elders  very  sensibly  and,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  successfully.  The  clear,  healthy  complexion  of 
the  Canadian  women  is  easy  to  account  for,  when  one 
sees  how  deep-rooted,  even  after  transplantation,  is  the 
good  British  love  of  exercise  in  the  open  air. 

Last  evening  I  was  taken  to  a  ball,  and  was  able  to 
see  more  of  the  Canadian  ladies  than  is  possible  in 
furs,  and  on  further  acquaintance  I  found  them  as  de- 
lightful in  manners  as  in  appearance  ;  English  in  their 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


193 


coloring  and  in  their  simplicity  of  dress,  American  in 
their  natural  bearing  and  in  their  frankness  of  speech. 


Churches,  churches,  everywhere.     In  my  drive  this 


K 


A  HOCKEY   PLAYER. 


afternoon,  I  counted  twenty-eight  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  They  are  of  all  denominations,  Catholic,  Angli- 
can, Presbyterian,  Baptist,  Methodist,  etc.,  etc.     The 


:  t 


Mf 


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194 


//   FREXCI/MAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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Canadians  must  be  still  more  religious — 1  mean  still 
more  church-going — than  the  English. 

From  seven  in  the  evening  on  Saturday,  all  the  tav- 
erns are  closed,  and  remain  closed  throughout  Sunday. 
In  England  the  Bible  has  to  compete  with  the  gin 
bottle,  but  here  the  Bible  has  all  its  own  way  on  Sun- 
days. Neither  tram-car,  omnibus,  cab,  nor  hired  car- 
riage of  any  description  is  to  be  seen  abroad.  Scotland 
itself  is  outdone  completely  ;  the  land  of  John  Knox 
has  to  take  a  back  seat. 

The  walls  of  this  city  of  churches  and  chapels  are  at 
the  present  moment  covered  with  hugh  coarse  posters 
announcing  in  loud  colors  the  arrival  of  a  company  of 
performing  women.  Of  these  posters,  one  represents 
Cleopatra  in  a  bark  drawn  through  the  water  by 
nude  female  slaves.  Another  shows  a  cavalcade  of 
women  dressed  in  little  more  than  a  fig-leaf.  Yet  an- 
other represents  the  booking-ofifice  of  the  theater 
stormed  by  a  crowd  of  ^/(r^J/- looking,  single  eye-glassed 
old  beaux,  grinning  with  pleasure  in  anticipation  of 
the  show  within.  Another  poster  displays  the  charms 
of  the  proprietress  of  the  undertaking.  You  must 
not,  however,  imagine  any  harm  of  the  performers 
whose  attractions  are  so  liberally  placarded.  They 
are  taken  to  their  cars  in  the  depot  immediately 
after  the  performance  and  locked  up ;  there  is  an 
announcement  to  that  effect.  These  placards  are 
merely  eye-ticklers.  But  this  mixture  of  churches, 
strict  Sabbatarianism,  and  posters  of  this  kind,  is 
part  of  the  eternal  history  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race — 
violent  contrast. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


«95 


A  school  inspector  has  kindly  shown  me  several 
schools  in  the  town. 

The  children  of  rich  and  poor  alike  are  educated 
together  in  the  public  schools,  from  which  they  get 
promoted  to  the  high  schools.  All  these  schools  are 
free.  Boys  and  girls  sit  on  the  same  benches  and  re- 
ceive the  same  education,  as  in  the  United  States. 
This  enables  the  women  in  the  New  World  to  com- 
pete with  men  for  all  the  posts  that  we  Europeans 
consider  the  monopoly  of  man ;  it  also  enables  them 
to  enjoy  all  the  intellectual  pleasures  of  life.  If  it 
does  not  prevent  them,  as  it  has  yet  to  be  proved 
that  it  does,  from  being  good  wives  and  mothers,  the 
educational  system  of  the  New  World  is  much  superior 
to  the  European  one.  It  is  essentially  democratic. 
Europe  will  have  to  adopt  it. 

Society  in  the  Old  World  will  not  stand  long  on  its 
present  basis.  There  will  always  be  i  ich  and  poor,  but 
every  child  that  is  born  will  require  to  be  given  a 
chance,  and,  according  as  he  avails  himself  of  it  or 
not,  will  be  successful  or  a  failure.  But  give  him  a 
chance,  and  the  greatest  and  most  real  grievance  of 
mankind  in  the  present  day  will  be  removed. 

Every  cb'M  that  is  born  in  America,  whether  in  the 
United  States  or  in  Canada,  has  that  chance. 


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CHAPTER    XXII. 

West  Canada— Relations  hetwekn  British  and 
Indians— Return  to  the  United  Siates — 
Difficulties  in  the  Way— Encounter  with 
AN  American  Custom-House  Officer. 


In  the  train  from  Canada  to  Chicago,  February  15. 

LECTURED  in  Bowmanville,  Out.,  on  the  i2tli, 
^  in  Brantford  on  the  13th,  and  in  Sarnia  on  the 
14th,  and  am  now  on  my  way  to  Chicago,  to  go  from 
there  to  Wisconsin  and  Minnesota. 

From  Brantford  I  drove  to  the  Indian  Reservation, 
a  few  miles  from  the  town.  This  visit  explained  to 
me  why  the  EngUsh  are  so  successful  with  their 
colonies :  they  have  inborn  in  them  the  instinct  of 
diplomacy  and  government. 

Whereas  the  Americans  often  swindle,  starve,  and 
shoot  the  Indians,  the  English  keep  them  in  comfort. 
England  makes  paupers  and  lazy  drunkards  of  them, 
and  they  quietly  and  gradually  disappear.  She  sup- 
plies them  with  bread,  food,  Bibles,  and  fire-water, 
and  they  become  so  lazy  that  they  will  not  even 
take  the  trouble  to  sow  the  land  of  their  reser- 
vations.    Having  a   dinner  supplied   to    them,  they 

196 


A    /'JR/:XC//A/.LV  LW  AMERICA. 


197 


give  up  hunting,  ridinjr,  and  all  their  native  spoils, 
and  become  enervated.  They  \^o  to  school  and  die 
of  attacks  of  civilization.  England  gives  them 
money  to  celebrate  their  national  fetes  and  rejoic- 
ings,  and   the   good     Indians    shout   at    the    top   of 


\ 


"v    V". 


'"ft 


TIIK   BRITISH    INDIAN. 

their  voices,  God  save  the  Queen  !   that  is — God  save 
our  pensions  ! 

England,  or  Great  Britain,  or  again,  if  you  prefer, 
Greater  Britain,  goes  further  than  that.  In  Brantford, 
in  the  middle  of  a  large  square,  you  can  see  the  statue 
of  the  Indian  chief  Brant,  erected  to  his  memory  by 
public  subscriptions  collected  among  the  British 
Canadians. 


II 


':■ 


HI? 

1: 


198 


ji   FRENCHMAISr  IN  AMERICA. 


Here  lies  the  secret  of  John  Bull's  success  as  a 
colonizer.  To  erect  a  statue  to  an  Indian  chief  is  a 
stroke  of  genius. 


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What  has  struck  me  as  most  American  in  Canada  is, 
perhaps,  journalism. 

Montreal,  Toronto,  Ottawa,  Quebec  possess  excel- 
lent newspapers,  and  every  little  town  can  boast  one 
or  two  journals. 

The  tone  of  these  papers  is  thoroughly  Ameri- 
can in  its  liveliness  —  I  had  almost  said,  in  its 
loudness.  All  are  readable  and  most  cleverly 
edited.  Each  paragraph  is  preceded  by  a  neat 
and  attractive  heading.  As  in  the  American  papers, 
the  editorials,  or  leading  articles,  are  of  secondary 
importance.  The  main  portion  of  the  publication 
is  devoted  to  news,  interviews,  stories,  gossip,  jokes, 
anecdotes,  etc. 

The  Montreal  papers  are  read  by  everybody  in  the 
Province  of  Quebec,  and  the  Toronto  papers  in  the 
Province  of  Ontario,  so  that  the  newspapers  published 
in  small  towns  are  content  with  giving  all  the  news  of 
the  locality.  Each  of  these  has  a  "  society  "  column. 
Nothing  is  more  amusing  than  to  read  of  the  society 
doings  in  these  little  towns.  "  Miss  Brown  is  visiting 
Miss  Smith."  "  Miss  Smith  had  tea  with  Miss  Robin- 
son yesterday."  When  Miss  Brown,  or  Miss  Smith, 
or  Miss  Robinson  has  given  a  party,  the  names  of  all 
the  guests  are  inserted  as  well  as  what  they  had  for 
dinner,  or  for  supper,  as  the  case  may  be.  So  I  take 
it  for  granted  that  when  anybody  gives  a  party,  a  ball. 


t       • 


A  FKENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


199 


a  dinner,  a  reporter  receives  an  invitation  to  describe 
the  party  in  the  next  issue  of  the  paper. 


At  nine  o'clock  this  evening,  I  left  Sarnia,  on  the 
frontier  of  Canada,  to  cross  the  river  and  pass  into  the 
United  States.  The  train  left  the  town,  and,  on 
arriving  on  the  bank  of  the  River  St.  Clair,  wis  divided 
into  two  sections  which  were  run  on  board  the  ferry- 
boat and  made  the  crossing  side  by  side.  The  passage 
across  the  river  occupied  about  twenty  minutes.  On 
arriving  at  the  other  bank,  at  Port  Huron,  in  the  State 
of  Michigan,  the  train  left  the  boat  in  the  same  fashion 
as  it  had  gone  on  board,  the  two  parts  were  coupled 
together,  and  the  journey  on  terra  firma  was  smoothly 
resumed. 

There  is  something  fascinating  about  crossing  a 
river  at  night,  and  I  had  promised  myself  some  agree- 
able moments  on  board  the  ferry-boat,  from  which  I 
should  be  able  to  see  Port  Huron  lit  up  with  twinkling 
lights.  I  was  also  curious  to  watch  the  train  boarding 
the  boat.  But,  alas,  I  had  reckoned  without  my  host. 
Instead  of  star-gazing  and  reverie,  there  was  in  store 
for  me  a  "  bad  quarter  of  an  hour." 

No  sooner  had  the  train  boarded  the  ferry-boat  than 
there  came  to  the  door  of  the  parlor  car  a  surly-look- 
ing, ill-mannered  creature,  who  roughly  bade  me  come 
to  the  baggage  van,  in  the  other  section  of  the  train, 
and  open  my  trunks  for  him  to  inspect. 

As  soon  as  I  had  complied,  he  went  down  on  his 
knees  among  my  baggage,  and  it  was  plain  to  see  that 
he  meant  business. 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


The  first  thing  he  took  out  was  a  suit  of  clothes, 
which  he  threw  on  the  dirty  floor  of  the  van. 

"  Have  these  been  worn  ?  "  he  said. 

"  They  have,"  I  replied. 

Then  he  took  out  a  blue  jacket  which  I  used  to 
cross  the  Atlantic. 


"HAVE   YOU   WORN   THIS?" 

"  Have  you  worn  this  ?  " 

**  Yes,  for  the  last  two  years." 

**  Is  that  all  ?"  he  said,  with  a  low  sardonic  grin. 

My  trunk  was  the  only  one  he  had  to  examine, 
as  I  was  the  only  passenger  in  the  parlor  car;  and  I 
saw  that  he  meant  to  annoy  me,  which,  I  imagined,  he 
could  do  with  perfect  impunity. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


20I 


The  best  thing,  in  fact,  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to 
take  the  misadventure  good-humoredly. 

He  took  out  my  linen  and  examined  it  in 
detail. 

"  Have  these  shirts  all  been  worn  ?  " 

"Well,  I  guess  they  have.  But  how  is  it  that  you, 
an  official  of  the  government,  seem  to  ignore  the  law 
of  your  own  country?  Don't  you  know  that  if  all 
these  articles  are  for  my  own  private  use,  they  are  not 
dutiable,  whether  new  or  not  ?  " 

The  man  did  not  answer. 

He  took  out  more  linen,  which  he  put  on  the  floor, 
and  spreading  open  a  pair  of  unmentionables,  he  asked 
again : 

"  Have  you  worn  this?     It  looks  quite  new." 

I  nodded  affirmatively. 

He  then  took  out  a  pair  of  socks. 

"  Have  yon  worn  these  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said.  "  Have  a  sniff  at 
them." 

He  continued  his  examination,  and  was  about  to 
throw  my  evening  suit  on  the  floor.  I  had  up  to  now 
been  almost  amused  at  the  proceedings,  but  I  felt  my 
good-humor  was  going,  and  the  lion  began  to  wag  its 
tail.  I  took  the  man  by  the  arm,  and  looking  at  him 
sternly,  I  said  : 

"  Now,  you  put  this  carefully  on  the  top  of  some 
other  clothes." 

He  looked  at  me  and  complied. 

By  this  time  all  the  contents  of  my  large  trunk  were 
spread  on  the  floor. 

He  got  up  on  his  feet  and  said : 


i  !, 


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A  FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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"  Have  I  looked  everywhere?" 
"  No,"  I  said,  **  you  haven't.     Do  you  know  how 
the  famous  Regent  diamond,  worn  by  the  last  kings 

of  France  on  their 
crowns,  was  smuggled 
into  French  territory?" 
The  creature  looked 
at  me  with  an  air  of 
impudence. 

"No,   I   don't,"  he 
replied. 

I  explained  to  him, 
and  added: 

"You   have   not 

looked  there'* 

The  lion,  that  lies  dormant  at  the  bottom  of  the 

quietest  man,  was  fairly  roused  in  me,  and  on  the  least 

provocation,  I  would  have  given  this  man  a  first-class 

hiding. 

He  went  away,  wondering  whether  I  had  insulted 
him  or  not,  and  left  me  in  the  van  to  repack  my  trunk 
as  best  I  could,  an  operation  which,  I  understand,  it 
was  his  duty  to  perform  himself. 


THE   CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


II 


Chicago  (First  Vi  jIt) — The  "  Neighborhood  " 
OF  Chicago— The  History  of  Chicago — Pub- 
lic Servants— A  Very  Deaf  Man. 


Chicago,  February  17. 

OH  !  a  lecturing  tour  in  America  ! 
I  am  here  on  my  way  to  St.   Paul   and  Min- 
neapolis. 

Just  before  leaving  New  York,  I  saw  in  a  comic  . 
paper  that  Bismarck  must  really  now  be  considered  as 
a  great  man,  because,  since  his  departure  from  office, 
there  had  been  no  rumor  of  his  having  applied  to 
Major  Pond  to  get  up  a  lecturing  tour  for  him  in  the 
United  States. 

It  was  not  news  to  me  that  there  are  plenty  of 
people  in  America  who  laugh  at  the  European  author's 
trick  of  going  to  the  American  platform  as  soon  as  he 
has  made  a  little  name  for  himself  in  his  own  country. 
The  laugh  finds  an  echo  in  England,  especially  from 
some  journalists  who  have  never  been  asked  to  go, 
and  from  a  few  men  who,  having  done  one  tour,  think 
it  wise  not  to  repeat  the  experience.  For  my  part, 
when  I  consider  that  Emerson,  Holmes,  Mark  Twain, 
have  been  lecturers,  that  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Matthew 
Arnold,  Sala,  Stanley,  Archdeacon  Farrar,  and  many 


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204 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


more,  all  have  made  their  bow  to  American  audiences, 
I  fail  to  discover  anything  very  derogatory  in  the  pro- 
ceeding. 

Besides,  I  feel  bound  to  say  that  there  is  nothing  in 
a  lecturing  tour  in  America,  even  in  a  highly  success- 
ful one,  that  can  ex- 

^,^^^^— --^  cite  the  envy  of  the 
most  jealous  "  fail- 
ure" in  the  world. 
Such  work  is  about 
the  hardest  that  a 
man,  used  to  the 
comforts  of  this  life, 
can  undertake.  Ac- 
tors, at  all  events, 
stop  a  week,  some- 
times a  fortnight,  in 
the  cities  they  visit ; 
but  a  lecturer  is  on 
the  road  every  day,  happy  when  he  has  not  to  start 
at  night. 

No  words  can  picture  the  monotony  of  journeys 
through  an  immense  continent,  the  sameness  of  which 
strikes  you  as  almost  unbearable.  Everything  is  made 
on  one  pattern.  All  the  towns  are  alike.  To  be  in  a 
railroad  car  for  ten  or  twelve  hours  day  after  day  can 
hardly  be  called  luxury,  or  even  comfort.  To  have 
one's  poor  brain  matter  thus  shaken  in  the  cranium  is 
terrible,  especially  when  the  cranium  is  not  quite  full. 
Constant  traveling  softens  the  brain,  liquefies  it,  churns 
it,  evaporates  it,  and  it  runs  out  of  you  through  all  the 
cracks  of  your  head.    I  own  that  traveling  is  comfort- 


A   PIG   SQUEALING. 


A   rRENCIIMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


205 


able  in  America,  even  luxurious;  but  the  best  fare 
becomes  monotonous  and  unpalatable  when  the  dose 
is  repeated  every  day. 

To-morrow  night  I  lecture  in  Minneapolis.  The 
next  night  I  am  in  Detroit.  Distance  about  seven 
hundred  miles. 

"Can  I  manage  it?"  said  I  to  my  impresario,  when 
he  showed  me  my  route. 

"  Why,  certn'ly,"  he  replied;  "if  you  catch  a  train 
after  your  lecture,  I  guess  you  will  arrive  in  time  for 
your  lecture  in  Detroit  the  next  day." 

These  remarks,  in  America,  are  made  without  a 
smile. 

On  arriving  at  Chicago  this  morning,  I  found  await- 
ing me  at  the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel,  a  letter  from  my 
impresario.     Here  is  the  purport  of  it : 

I  know  you  have  with  you  a  trunk  and  a  small  portmanteau.  I 
would  advise  you  to  leave  your  trunk  at  the  Grand  Pacific,  and  to 
take  with  you  only  the  portmanteau,  while  you  are  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Chicago.     You  will  thus  save  trouble,  expense,  etc. 

On  looking  at  my  route,  I  found  that  the  "  neighbor- 
hood of  Chicago  "  included  St.  Paul,  Minneapolis,  Mil- 
waukee, Detroit,  Cleveland,  Cincinnati,  Indianapolis: 
something  like  a  little  two-thousand-mile  tour  "in  the 
neighborhood  of  Chicago,"  to  be  done  in  about  one 
week. 

When  I  confided  my  troubles  to  my  American 
friends,  I  got  little  sympathy  from  them. 

"That's  quite  right,"  they  would  say;  "we  call  the 
neighborhood  of  a  city  any  place  which,  by  starting 
after  dinner,  you  can  reach  at  about  breakfast  time  the 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


next  day.  You  dine,  you  go  on  board  the  car,  you 
have  a  smoke,  you  go  to  bed,  you  sleep,  you  wake  up, 
you  dress — and  there  you  are.     Do  you  see  ?  " 

After  all  you  may  be  of  this  opinion,  if  you  do  not 
reckon  sleeping  time.  But  I  do  reckon  it,  when  I 
have  to  spend  the  night  in  a  closed  box,  six  feet  long, 
and  three  feet  wide,  and  about  two  feet  high,  and 
especially  when  the  operation  has  to  be  repeated  three 
or  four  times  a  week. 


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And  the  long  weary  days  that  are  not  spent  in 
traveling,  how  can  they  be  passed,  even  tolerably,  in 
an  American  city,  where  the  lonely  lecturer  knows 
nobody,  and  where  there  is  absolutely  nothing  to  be 
seen  beyond  the  hotels  and  the  dry-goods  stores? 
Worse  still ;  he  sometimes  has  the  good  luck  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  some  charming  people  :  but  he  has 
hardly  had  time  to  fix  their  features  in  his  memory, 
when  he  has  to  go,  probably  never  to  see  them  again. 

The  lecturer  speaks  for  an  hour  and  a  half  on  the 
platform  every  evening,  the  rest  of  his  time  is  exclus- 
ively devoted  to  keeping  silence.  Poor  fellow!  how 
grateful  he  is  to  the  hotel  clerk  who  sometimes — alas, 
very  seldom — will  chat  with  him  for  a  few  minutes. 
As  a  rule  the  hotel  clerk  is  a  mute,  who  assigns  a  room 
to  you,  or  hands  you  the  letters  waiting  for  you  in  the 
box  corresponding  to  your  number.  His  mouth  is 
closed.  He  may  have  seen  you  for  half  a  minute  only; 
he  will  rememberyou.  Even  in  a  hotel  accommodating 
over  a  thousand  guests,  he  will  know  you,  he  will  know 
the  number  of  your  room,  but  he  won't  speak.  He  is 
not  the  only  American  that  won't  speak.     Every  man 


I      t 
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THE   SLEEPING   CAR. 


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208 


//   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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in  America  who  is  attending  to  some  duty  or  other, 
has  his  mouth  closed.  I  have  tried  the  railroad  con- 
ductor, and  found  him  mute.  I  have  had  a  shot  at  the 
porter  in  the  Pullman  car,  and  found  him  mute.  I 
^  -«»^  have   endeavored   to 

draw  out  the  janitors 
of  the  halls  where  I 
was  to  speak  in  the 
evening,  and  I  have 
failed.  Even  the 
negroes  won't  speak. 
You  would  imagine 
that  speaking  was 
prohibited  b  y  t  h  e 
statute-book.  When 
my  lecture  was  over, 
I  returned  to  the 
hotel,  and  like  a  cul- 
prit crept  to  bed. 

How  I  do  love 
New  York!  It  is 
not  that  it  pos- 
sesses a  single  building  that  I  really  care  for ;  it  is  be- 
cause it  contains  scores  and  scores  of  delightful  people, 
brilliant,  affable,  hospitable,  warm-hearted  friends,  who 
were  kind  enough  to  welcome  me  when  I  returned 
from  a  tour,  and  in  whose  company  I  could  break  up 
the  cobwebs  that  had  had  time  to  form  in  the  corners 
of  my  mouth. 


THE  JANITOR. 


»:    ! 


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(" 


The  history  of  Chicago  can  be  written  in  a  few  lines. 
So  can  the  history  of  the  whole  of  America. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AME.KICA. 


209 


In  about  1830  a  man  called  Benjamin  Harris,  with 
his  family,  moved  to  Chicago,  or  Fort  Dearborn,  as  it 
was  then  called.  Not  more  than  half  a  dozen  whites, 
all  of  whom  were  Indian  traders,  had  preceded  them. 
In  1832  they  had  a  child,  the  first  white  female  born 
in  Chicago — now  married,  called  Mrs.  S.  A.  Holmes, 
and  the  mother  of  fourteen  children.  In  1871  Chi- 
cago had  over  100,000  inhabitants,  and  was  burned  to 
the  ground.  To-day  Chicago  has  over  1,200,000  in- 
habitants, and  in  ten  years*  time  will  have  two  mil- 
lions. 

The  activity  in  Chicago  is  perfectly  amazing.  And 
I  don't  mean  commercial  activity  only.  Compare 
the  following  statistics:  In  the  great  reading  rooms 
of  the  British  Museum,  there  was  an  average  of  620 
readers  daily  during  the  year  1888.  In  the  reading- 
room  of  the  Chicago  Public  Library,  there  was  an  av- 
erage of  1569  each  day  in  the  same  year.  Considering 
that  the  population  of  London  is  nearly  five  times  that 
of  Chicago,  it  shows  that  the  reading  public  is  ten 
times  more  numerous  in  Chicago  than  in  London. 


^1    ■•! 


'       '\ 


;   \ 


It  is  a  never  failing  source  of  amusement  to  watch 
the  ways  of  public  servants  in  this  country. 

I  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  public  museum  this  after- 
noon. 

In  Europe,  the  keepers,  that  is  to  say,  the  servants 
of  the  public,  have  cautions  posted  in  the  museums,  in 
which  "the  public  are  requested  not  to  touch."  In 
France,  they  are  *'  begged,"  which  is  perhaps  a  more 
suitable  expression,  as  the  museums,  after  all,  belong 
to  the  public. 


aio 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


\\\ 


In  America,  the  notice  is  "  Hands  off  !  "  This  is 
short  and  to  tlie  point.  The  servants  of  the  public  al- 
low you  to  enter  the  museums,  charge  you  twenty-five 


THE    "DRUSH-UP 


cents,  and  warn  you   to  behave    well.     "Hands  off" 
struck  me  as  rather  off-handed. 

I  really  admire  the  independence  of  all  the  ser-  ants 
in  this  country.  You  may  give  them  a  tip,  you  will 
not  run  the  risk  of  making  them  servile  or  even 
polite. 


A    FR  Eh' CUM  AN  IN  AMERICA. 


211 


The  railway  conductor  says  "  ticket !  "  The  word 
please  docs  not  belong  to  his  vocabulary  any  more  than 
the  words  "  thank  you."  He  says  "  ticket  "  and 
frowns.  You  show  it  to  him.  He  looks  at  it  suspi- 
ciously, and  gives  it  back  to  you  with  a  haughty  air 
that  seems  to  say :  "  I  hope  you  will  behave  properly 
while  you  are  in  my  car." 

The  tip  in  America  is  v\oi  de  rigueur  as  in  Europe. 
The  cabman  charges  you  so  much,  and  expects  noth- 
ing mere.  He  would  lose  his  dignity  by  accepting  a 
tip  (many  run  the  risk).  He  will  often  ask  you  for  more 
than  you  owe  him;  but  this  is  the  act  of  a  sharp 
man  of  business,  not  the  act  of  a  servant.  In  doingso, 
he  does  not  derogate  from  his  character. 

The  negro  is  the  only  servant  who  smiles  in  Amer- 
ica, the  only  one  who  is  sometimes  polite  and  attentive, 
and  the  only  one  who  speaks  English  with  a  pleasant 
accent. 

The  negro  porter  in  the  sleeping  cars  has  seldom 
failed  to  thank  me  for  the  twenty-five  or  fifty  cent 
piece  I  always  give  him  after  he  has  brushed — or 
rather,  swept — my  clothes  with  his  little  broom. 

•  •  •  •  • 

A  few  minutes  ago,  as  I  was  packing  my  valise  for 
a  journey  to  St.  Paul  and  Minneapolis  to-night,  the 
porter  brought  in  a  card.  The  name  was  unknown 
tome;  but  the  porter  having  said  that  it  was  the 
card  of  a  gentleman  who  was  most  anxious  to  speak 
to  me,  I  said,  **  Very  well,  bring  him  here." 

The  gentleman  entered  the  room,  saluted  me, 
shook  hands,  and  said  • 

**  I  hope  I  am  not  intruding." 


1 1 


I ' 


1 1  i 


M 


'■  !' 

It 


m 


212 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


Mi'   i 


l'  I  ■ 


Vi 


Mi 


'  "Well,"  said  I,  "  I  must  ask  you  not  to  detain  me 
long,  because  I  am  off  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  I  understand,  sir,  that  some  time  ago  you  were  en- 
gaged in  teaching  the  French  language  in  one  of  the 
great  public  schools  of  England." 

"  I  was,  sir,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  have  a  son  whom  I  wish  to  speak  French 
properly,  and    I    have   come  to   ask   for   your   views 


I  '""'T. 


on  the  subject.  In  other  words,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  tell  me  what  are  the  best  methods  for 
teaching  this  larguage  ?  Only  excuse  me,  I  am 
very  deaf." 

He  pulled  out  of  his  back  pocket  two  yards  of  gutta- 
percha tube,  and,  applying  one  end  to  his  ear  and 
placing  the  other  against  my  mouth,  he  said,  "  Go 
ahead." 

"  Really  ?  "  I    shouted  through   the   tube.     *'  Now 


11 
I 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


13 


please  shut  your  eyes  ;  nothing  is  better  for  increasing 
the  power  of  hearing." 

The  man  shut  his  eyes  and  turned  his  head  side- 
ways, so  as  to  have  the  h'stening  ear  in  front  of  me. 
I  took  my  valise  and  ran  to  the  elevator  as  fast  as  I 
could. 

That  man  may  still  be  waiting  for  aught  I  know  and 
care. 


W 


Before  leaving  the  hotel,  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Mr.  George  Kennan,  the  Russian  traveler.  His 
articles  on  Russia  and  Siberia,  published  in  the  Cen- 
tury Magazine,  attracted  a  great  deal  of  public  atten- 
tion, and  people  everywhere  throng  to  hear  him  relate 
his  terrible  experiences  on  the  platform.  He  has  two 
hundred  lectures  to  give  this  season.  He  struck  me 
as  a  most  remarkable  man — simple,  unaffected  in  his 
manner,  with  unflinching  resolution  written  on  his 
face ;  a  man  in  earnest,  you  can  see.  I  am  delighted 
to  find  that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  c'  meeting  him 
again  in  New  York  in  the  middle  of  April.  He  looks 
tired.  He,  too,  is  lecturing  in  the  "  neighborhood  of 
Chicago,"  and  is  off  now  to  the  night  train  for  Cincin- 
nati. 


i    r. 


II  I 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


n; 


Mi  ' 


I.. 

't 

i  ! 

il 

1; 

If 

if  1 

If:^ 


III 


v^l 


li 


I !    il 


St.  Paul  and  Minneapolis,  the  Sister  Cities — Ri- 
valries AND  Jealousies  between  Large  Amer- 
ican Cities — Minnehaha  Falls — Wonderful 
Interviewers— My  Hat  gets  into  Trouble 
Again — Electricity  in  the  Air — Forest  Ad- 
vertisements— Railway  Speed  in  America. 


SL  Paul,  Minn.y  February  20. 

ARRIVED  at  St.  Paul  the  day  before  yesterday 
-  to  pay  a  professional  visit  to  the  two  great  sister 
cities  of  the  north  of  America. 

Sister  cities  !  Yes,  they  are  near  enough  to  shake 
hands  and  kiss  each  other,  but  I  am  afraid  they  avail 
themselves  of  their  proximity  to  scratch  each  other's 
faces. 

If  you  open  Bouillet's  famous  Dictionary  of  History 
and  Geography  (edition  1880),  you  will  find  in  it  neit 'lor 
St.  Paul  nor  Minneapolis.  I  was  told  yesterday  tlui' 
in  1834  there  was  one  white  inhabitant  in  Minneapo- 
lis. To-day  the  two  cities  have  about  200,000  inhabi- 
tants each.  Where  is  the  dictionary  of  geography  that 
can  keep  pace  with  such  wonderful  phantasmagoric 
growth  ?  The  two  cities  are  separated  by  a  distance 
of  about  nine  miles,  but  they  are  every  day  growing 

314 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


215 


up  toward  each  other,  and  to-morrow  they  will  practi- 
cally have  become  one. 

Nothing  is  more  amusing  than  the  jealousies  which 
exist  between  the  different,  large  cities  of  the  United 
States,  and  when  these  rival  places  are  close  to  each 
other,  the  feeling  of  jealousy  is  so  intensified  as  to 
become  highly  entertaining. 

St.  Paul  charges  Minneapolis  with  copying  into 
the  census  names  from  tombstones,  and  it  is  aflfirmed 
that  young  men  living  in  either  one  of  the  cities 
will  marry  girls  belonging  to  the  other  so  as  to  de- 
crease its  population  by  one.  The  story  goes 
that  once  a  preacher  having  announced,  in  a  Min- 
neapolis church,  that  he  had  taken  the  text  of  his 
sermon  from  St.  Paul,  the  congregation  walked  out 
en  masse. 

New  York  despises  Philadelphia,  and  pokes  fun  at 
Boston.  On  the  other  hand,  Boston  hates  Chicago, 
and  vice  versa.  St.  Louis  has  only  contempt  for  Chi- 
cago, and  both  cities  laugh  heartily  at  Detroit  and 
Milwaukee.  San  Francisco  and  Denver  are  left  alone 
in  their  prosperity.  They  are  so  far  away  from  the 
east  and  north  of  America,  that  the  feeling  they  in- 
spire is  only  one  of  indifference. 

"  Philadelphia  is  a  city  of,  homes,  not  of  lodging- 
houses,"  once  said  a  Philadelphian  to  a  New  Yorker ; 
"  and  it  spreads  over  a  far  greater  area  than  New  York, 
with  less  than  half  the  inhabitants."  "Ah,"  replied 
the  New  Yorker,  "that's  because  it  has  been  so  much 
sat  ur,»on." 

"You  are  a  city  of  commerce,"  said  a  Bostonian  to 
a   New  York  wit ;    "  Boston   is  a  city  of   culture." 


Ii''  .   in 


f   t 


■=r 


2l6 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


m 

i  i   ■■  ■■ 


H  ii 


i^  I'- 


"Yes,"    replied  the   New  Yorker,  "you  spell  culture 
with  a  big  C,  and  God  with  a  small  g." 

Of  course  St.  Paul  and  Minneapolis  accuse  each 
other  of  counting  their  respective  citizens  twice  over. 
All  that  is  diverting  in  the  highest  degree.  This  feel- 
ing does  not  exist  only  between  the  rival  cities  of  the 
New  World,  it  exists  in  the  Old.  Ask  a  Glasgow  man 
what  he  thinks  of  Edinburgh,  and  an  Edinburgh  man 
what  he  thinks  of  Glasgow  ! 

•  •  •  •  • 

On  account  of  the  intense  cold  (nearly  thirty  degrees 
below  zero),  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  much  eitherof 
St.  Paul  or  of  Minneapolis,  and  I  am  unable  to  please 
or  vex  either  of  these  cities  by  pointing  out  their 
beauties  and  defects.  Both  are  large  and  substantially 
built,  with  large  churches,  schools,  banks,  stores,  and 
all  the  temples  that  modern  Christians  erect  to  Jehovah 
and  Mammon.  I  may  say  that  the  Ryan  Hotel  at  St. 
Paul  and  the  West  House  at  Minneapolis  are  among 
the  very  best  hotels  I  have  come  across  in  America,  the 
latter  especially.  When  I  have  added  that,  the  day 
before  yesterday,  I  had  an  immense  audience  in  the 
People's  Church  at  St.  Paul,  and  that  to-night  I  have 
had  a  crowded  house  at  the  Grand  Opera  House  in 
Minneapolis,  it  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  I 
shall  have  enjoyed  myself  in  the  two  great  towns,  and 
that  I  shall  carry  away  with  me  a  delightful  recollec- 
tion of  them. 


^ 


Soon  after  arriving  in  Minneapolis  yesterday,  I  went 
to  see  the  Minnehaha  Falls,  immortalized  by  Long- 
fellow.    The  motor  line  gave  me  an  idea  of  rapid  tran- 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


217 


sit.     I  returned  to  the  West  House  for  lunch  and  spent 
the  afternoon  writing.     Many  interviewers  called 
The  first  who  came  sat  down  in  my  room  and  point- 


r. 


"  WHAT   YEARLY    INCOME    DOES   YOUR   BOOKS 
AND   LECTURES   BRING   IN?" 

blank  asked  me    my  views    on  contagious    diseases, 
beeing  that  I  was  not  disposed  to  talk  on  the  subject 
he  asked  me  to  discourse  on  republics  and  the  pros! 


! 


ly 


m 


%  ■■ 


1 1- Si: 


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m ' : 

It-;       1- 

M   : 


111  I 


:  J 

Hi;:] 


1 

hj           ' 

111 

2l8 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


pects  of  General  Boulanger.  In  fact,  anything  for 
copy. 

Tlie  second  one,  after  asking  me  where  I  came  from 
and  where  I  was  going,  inquired  whether  I  had  ex- 
hausted the  Anglo-Saxons  and  whether  I  should  write 
on  other  nations.  After  I  had  satisfied  him,  he  asked  me 
what  yearly  income  my  books  and  lectures  brought  in. 

Another  wanted  to  know  why  I  had  not  brought  my 
wife  with  me,  how  many  children  I  had,  how  old  they 
were,  and  other  details  as  wonderfully  interesting  to 
the  public.  By  and  by  I  saw  he  was  jotting  down  a 
description  of  my  appearance,  and  the  different  clothes 
I  had  on!  "I  will  unpack  this  trunk,"  I  said,  "and 
spread  all  its  contents  on  the  floor.  Perhaps  you  would 
be  glad  to  have  a  look  at  my  things."  He  smiled  : 
"  Don't  trouble  any  more,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  courtesy." 

This  morning,  on  opening  the  papers,  I  see  that  my 
hat  is  getting  into  trouble  again.  I  thought  that,  after 
getting  rid  of  my  brown  hat  and  sending  it  to  the  editor 
in  the  town  where  it  had  created  such  a  sensation,  peace 
was  secured.  Not  a  bit.  In  the  Minneapolis yiy«r;m/ 
I  read  the  following: 

The  attractive  personality  of  the  man  [allow  me  to  record  this  for 
the  sake  of  what  follows],  heightened  by  his  iidgUgd  sack  coat  and 
vest,  with  a  background  of  yellowish  plaid  trowsers  (sic^  occasional 
glimpses  of  which  were  revealed  from  beneath  the  folds  of  a  heavy 
ulster,  which  swept  the  floor  [I  was  sitting  of  course]  and  was 
trimmed  with  fur  collar  and  cuffs.  And  then  that  hat !  On  the 
table,  carelessly  thrown  ahiid  a  pile  of  correspondence,  was- his 
nondescript  headgear.  One  of  those  half-sombreros  affected  by  the 
wild  Western  cowboy  when  on  dress  parade,  an  impossible  com- 
bination of  dark-blue  and  bottle-green. 


A   FKEN-CIIMAN'  /.V  AMERICA. 


219 


Fancy  treating  in  this  off-handed  Avay  a  $7.50  soft 
black  felt  hat  bought  of  the  best  hatter  in  New  York! 
No,  nothing  is  sacred  for  those  interviewers.  Dark-blue 
and  bottle-green!  Why,  did  that  man  imagine  that  I 
wore  my  hat  inside  out  so  as  to  show  the  silk  lining? 


The  air  here  is  perfectly  wonderful,  dry  and  full  of 
electricity.  If  yoirr  fingers  come  into  contact  with 
anything  metallic,  like  the  hot-water  pipes,  the  chan- 
deliers, the  stopper  of  your  washing  basin,  they  draw 
a  spark,  sharp  and  vivid.  One  of  the  reporters  who 
called  here,  and  to  whom  I  mentioned  the  fact,  was 
able  to  light  my  gas  with  his  finger,  by  merely  obtain- 
ing an  electric  spawk  on  the  top  of  the  burner.  When 
he  said  he  could  thus  light  the  gas,  I  thought  he  was 
joking. 

I  had  observed  this  phenomenon  before.  In  Ottawa, 
for  instance. 

Whether  this  air  makes  you  live  too  quickly,  I  do 
not  know;  but  it  is  most  bracing  and  healthy.  I  have 
never  felt  so  well  and  hearty  in  my  life  as  in  these  cold, 
dry  climates. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  was  all  the  more  flattered  to  have  such  a  large  and 
fashionable  audience  at  the  Grand  Opera  House  to- 
night, ^hat  my  causerie  was  not  given  under  the  auspices 
of  any  society,  or  as  one  of  any  course  of  lectures. 

I  lecture  in  Detroit  the  day  after  to-morrow.  I  shall 
have  to  leave  Minneapolis  to-morrow  morning  at  six 
o'clock  for  Chicago,  which  I  shall  reach  at  ten  in  the 
evening.  Then  I  shall  have  to  run  to  the  Michigan 
Central  Station  to  catch  the  night  train  to  Detroit  at 


v-\. 


I  I 

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H 


220 


/f    FKEXCHMAiy  IN  AMERICA. 


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eleven.      Altogether,    twenty-three   hours   of   railway 
traveling — 745  miles. 

And  still  in  "  the  neighborhood  of  Chicago  !  " 

•  •  ■  •  « 

Jn  the  train  to  Chicago,  February  21. 
Have  just  passed  a  wonderful  advertisement.     Here, 


BEAUT 


CRAY 


PERFUMES 


AN   ADVERTISEMENT. 


in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  I  have  seen  a  huge  wide  board 
nailed  on  two  trees,  parallel  to  the  railway  line.  On  it 
was  written,  round  a  daub  supposed  to  represent  one  of 


It 


? 


A   FREi\'CIIMAN  IX  AMERICA. 


221 


the  loveliest  Eiifrlish  ladies:  "  If  )-oii  would  be  as  lovely 
as  the  beautiful  Lady  de  Gray,  use  Gray  perfumes." 

Soyez  done  bclle^  to  be  used  as  an  advertisement  in 
the  forests  of  Minnesota! 


My  lectures  have  never  been  criticised  in  more  kind, 
flattering,  and  eulogistic  terms  than  in  the  St.  Paul  and 
the  Minneapolis  papers,  which  I  am  reading  on  my 
way  to  Chicago.  I  find 
newspaper  reading  a 
great  source  of  amuse- 
ment in  the  trains. 
First  of  all  because 
these  papers  always  are 
light  reading,  and  also 
because  reading  is  a 
possibility  in  a  well 
lighted  carriage  going  J 
only  at  a  moderate 
speed.  Eating  is  com- 
fortable, and  even  writ- 
ing is  possible  en  route. 
With  the  exception  of 
a  few  trains,  such  as  are  run  from  New  York  to  Boston, 
Chicago,  and  half  a  dozen  other  important  cities,  rail- 
way traveling  is  slower  in  America  than  in  England 
and  France  ;  but  I  have  never  found  fault  with  the 
speed  of  an  American  train.  On  the  contrary,  I  have 
always  felt  grateful  to  the  driver  for  running  slowly. 
And  every  time  that  the  car  reached  the  other  side 
of  some  of  the  many  rotten  wooden  bridges  on  which 
the  train  had  to  pass,  I  returned  thanks. 


I   KETURNED   THANKS. 


w 

r       i^ 

i  ^  • 

>1 

'  ■ 

■  1 

i.J 


Hi^  r 


s'l;  ; 


!^:    :iU 


III!! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Detroit  — The  Town  —  The  Detroit  "Free 
Press"— A  Lady  Interviewer— The  "Unco 
Guid"  in  Detroit — Reflections  on  the 
Anglo-Saxon  "  Unco  Guid." 


Detroit,  February  22. 

AM  delighted  with  Detroit.  It  possesses  beautiful 
^  streets,  avenues,  and  walks,  and  r.  nne  square  in  the 
middle  of  which  stands  a  remarkably  fine  monument. 
I  am  also  grateful  to  this  city  for  breaking  the  monot- 
ony of  the  eternal  parallelograms  with  which  the 
whole  of  the  United  States  are  built.  My  national 
vanity  almost  suggests  to  me  that  this  town  owes  its 
gracefulness  to  its  French  origin.  There  are  still,  I 
am  told,  about  25,000  French  people  settled  in 
Detroit. 

I  have  had  to-night,  in  the  Church  of  Our  Father, 
a  crowded  and  most  brilliant  audience,  whose  keen- 
ness, intelligence,  and  kindness  were  very  flattering. 

I  was  interviewed,  both  by  a  lady  and  a  gentleman, 
for  the  Detroit  Free  Press,  that  most  witty  of  Ameri- 
can newspapers.  The  charming  young  lady  inter- 
viewer came  to  talk  on  social  topics.  I  remarked  that 
she  was  armed  with  a  copy  of  "  Jonathan  and  his 
Continent,"   and   I   came   to   the  conclusion  that  she 


323 


THE  LADY  INTERVIEWER. 


..<' 


r::J. 


I 


,•/   I'A'EXCI/MAX  IX  AMERICA. 


\m- 


f!>. 


!  J  J 


W     i 


'lii: 


III 


I'i'^i 


would  probably  ask  for  a  few  explanations  about  that 
bt)ok.  I  was  not  mistaken.  She  took  exception,  slie 
infonned  me,  to  many  statements  concerning  tiie 
American  girl  in  the  book.  I  made  a  point  to  prove 
to  her  that  all  was  right,  and  all  was  truth,  and  I  think 
I  persuaded  her  to  abandon  the  prosecution. 

To  tell  the  truth,  now  the  real  truth,  mind  you,  I 
am  rather  tired  of  l.earing  about  the  American  girl. 
The  more  I  see  of  her  the  more  I  am  getting  con- 
vinced that  she  is — like  the  other  girls  in  the  world. 

t  •  «  •  • 

A  friend,  who  came  to  have  a  chat  with  me  after  this 
lecture,  has  told  me  that  the  influential  people  of  the 
city  are  signing  a  petition  to  the  custodians  of  the 
museum  calling  upon  them  to  drape  all  the  nude 
statues,  and  intimating  their  intentir-<  of  boycotting 
the  institution,  if  the  Venuses  and  "^oUos  are  not 
forthwith  provided  with  tuckers  and  togas. 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  in  the  history  of  the  world, 
that  young  communities  have  no  taste  for  fine  art — 
they  have  no  time  to  cultivate  it.  If  I  had  gone  to 
Oklahoma,  I  should  not  have  expected  to  find  any  art 
feeling  at  all ;  but  that  in  a  city  like  Detroit,  where 
there  is  such  evidence  of  intellectual  life  :Ind  high 
culture  among  the  inhabitants,  a  party  should  be 
found  numerous  and  strong  enough  to  issue  such  a 
heathen  dictate  as  this  seems  scarcely  credible.  I  am 
inclined  to  think  it  must  be  a  joke.  That  the  "  unco 
guid  "  should  flourish  under  the  gloomy  sky  of  Great 
Britain  I  understand,  but  under  the  bright  blue  sky  of 
America,  in  that  bracing  atmosphere,  I  cannot. 

It  is  most  curious  that  there  should  be  people  who, 


-/    /''A'/:X(7/A/,IX   /x  AMERICA. 


225 


when   confronted  with   some  jrlorious  masterpiece  of 
sculpture,  should  not  sec  the  poetry,  the  beauty  of  the 


^^"^ 


THE  DRAPED   STATUES. 


human  form  divine.    This  is  beyond  me,  and  beyond 
any  educated  Frenchman. 

Does  the  "  unco  guid  "  exist  in  America,  then  ?     I 


W' 


.  i 


mi  ■M-nir''FWlg3BB 


OBBS 


U 


226 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


V. 


\. 


\ " 


k:  I 


'".  ■:  ill  J 


11' 


r  i^ 


f      h 


r  ,  t  : 


!:l 


i   1  j:    '!; 

1  ''     1 

'I'  i 

i.s:,  ; 


should  have  thought  that  these  people,  of  the  earth 
earthy,  were  not  found  out  of  England  and  Scotland. 

When  I  was  in  America  two  years  ago,  I  heard  that 
an  English  author  of  some  repute,  talking  one  day 
with  Mr.  Richard  Watson  Gilder  about  the  Venus  of 
Milo,  had  remarked  that,  as  he  looked  at  her  beautiful 
form,  he  longed  to  put  his  arms  around  her  and  kiss 
her.  Mr.  Gilder,  who,  as  a  poet,  as  an  artist,  has  felt 
only  respect  mingled  with  his  admiration  of  the  match- 
less divinity,  replied  :  "  I  hope  she  would  have  grown 
a  pair  of  arms  for  the  occasion,  so  as  to  have  slapped 
your  face." 

It  is  not  so  much  the  thing  that  offends  the  "  unco 
guid  " ;  it  is  the  name,  the  reflection,  the  idea.  Un- 
healthy-minded himself,  he  dreads  a  taint  where  there 
is  none,  and  imagines  in  others  a  corruption  which 
exists  only  in  himself. 

Yet  the  One,  whom  he  would  fain  call  Master,  but 
whose  teachings  he  is  slow  in  following,  said  :  '*  Woe  be 
to  them  by  whom  offense  cometh."  But  the  "  unco 
guid"  is  a  Christian  failure,  2. parvenu. 

•  *  •  •  • 

ThQ  parvenu  is  a  person  who  makes  strenuous  efforts 
to  persuade  other  people  that  he  is  entitled  to  the 
position  he  occupies. 

There  ^cc^  parvemis  in  religion,  as  there  2,xq  parvenus 
in  the  aristocracy,  in  society,  in  literature,  in  the  fine 
arts,  etc. 

The  worst  type  of  the  French  parvenu  is  the  one 
whose  father  was  a  worthy,  hard-working  man  called 
Dubois  or  Dumonty  and  who,  at  his  father's  death,  dubs 
himself  du  Bois  or  du  Mont,  becomes  a  clericalist  and 


\\\ 


B      V 


A    FRENCHMAN-  IN  AMERICA. 


-7 


the  stanchest  monarch- 
ist, and  runs  down 
the  great  Revolution 
which  made  one  of  his 
grand  -  parents  a  man. 
M.  du  Bois  or  du  Mont 
outdoes  the  genuine 
nobleman,  who  needs 
make  no  noise  to  at- 
tract attention  to  a 
name  vhich  everybody 
knows,  and  which,  in 
spite  of  what  may  be 
said  on  the  subject, 
often  recalls  the  mem- 
ory oi  some  glorious 
event  in  the  past. 

The  worst  type  of 
Anglo  -  Saxon  parvenu 
is  probably  the  '*  unco 
guid,"  or  religious  par- 
venu. 

The  Anglo-Saxon 
"  unco  guid  "  is  seldom 
to  be  found  among 
Roman  Catholics;  that 
is,  among  the  followers 
of  the  most  ancient 
Christian  religion.  He 
is  to  be  found  among 
the  followers  of  the  newest  forms  of  "  Christianity." 
This  is  quite  natural.     He  has  to  try  to  eclipse  his 


V- 


I 


THE   PARVENU. 


I     . 


I  i 


^ 


\iV. 


It  i. 


m  J 


i  :'  |- 


hi' 


'^-f 


t'iV 


\ 


II 


ii  I 


!l 


228 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


fellow-Christians  by  his  piety,  in  order  to  show  that 
the  iijvv  religion  to  which  he  belongs  was  a  necessary 
invention. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  "  unco  guid  "  is  easily  recognized. 
He  is  dark  (all  bigots  and  fanatics  are).  He  is  dressed 
in  black,  shiny  broadcloth  raiment.  A  wide-brimmed 
felt  hat  covers  his  head.  He  walks  with  light,  short, 
jaunty  steps,  his  head  a  little  inclined  on  one  side. 
He  never  carries  a  stick,  which  might  give  a  rather 
fast  appearance  to  his  turn-out.  He  invariably  carries 
an  umbrella,  even  in  the  brightest  weather,  as  being 
more  respectable — and  this  umbrella  he  never  rolls,  for 
he  would  avoid  looking  in  the  distance  as  if  he  had  a 
stick.  He  casts  right  and  left  little  grimaces  that  are 
so  many  forced  smiles  of  self-satisfaction.  "  Try  to  be 
as  good  as  I  am,"  he  seems  to  say  to  all  who  happen 
to  look  at  him,  "  and  you  will  be  as  happy."  And  he 
**  smiles,  and  smiles,  and  smiles." 

He  has  a  small  soul,  a  small  heart,  and  a  small  brain. 

As  a  rule,  he  is  a  well-to-do  person.  It  pays  better 
to  have  a  narrow  mind  than  to  have  broad  sympathies. 

He  drinks  tea,  but  prefers  cocoa,  as  being  a  more 
virtuous  beverage. 

He  is  perfectly  destitute  of  humor,  and  is  the  most 
inartistic  creature  in  the  world.  Everything  suggests 
to  him  either  profanity  or  indecency.  The  "  Remi- 
niscences of  Scottish  Life  and  Character,"  by  Dean 
Ramsay,  would  strike  him  as  profane,  and  if  placed  in 
the  Mus^e  du  Louvre,  before  the  Venus  of  Milo,  he 
would  see  nothing  but  a  woman  who  has  next  to  no 
clothes  on. 

His  distorted  mind  makes  him  take  everything  in  ill 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


229 


part.     His  hands  get  pricked  on  every  thorn  that  he 
comes  across  on  the  road,  and  he  misses  all  the  roses. 

If  I  were  not  a  Christian,  the  following  story,  which 
is  not  as  often  told  as  it  should  be,  would  have  con- 
verted me  long  ago  : 

Jesus  arrived  one  evening  at  the  gates  of  a  certain  city,  and  he 
sent  his  disciples  forward  to  prepare  supper,  while  he  himself,  in- 
tent on  doing  good,  walked  through  the  streets  into  the  market- 
place. And  he  saw  at  the  corner  of  the  market  some  people  gath- 
ered together,  looking  at  an  object  on  the  ground  ;  and  he  drew 
near  to  see  what  it  might  be.  It  was  a  dead  dog,  with  a  halter 
round  his  neck,  by  which  he  appeared  to  have  been  dragged 
through  the  dirt ;  and  a  viler,  a  more  abject,  a  more  unclean  thing, 
never  met  the  eyes  of  man.  And  those  who  stood  by  looked  on 
with  abhorrence.  "Faugh!"  said  one,  stopping  his  nose,  "it 
pollutes  the  air."  "  How  long,"  said  another,  "  shall  this  foul 
beast  offend  our  sight .'"'  •*  Lool:  at  his  torn  hide,"  said  a  third; 
"  one  could  not  even  cut  a  shoe  out  of  it!  "  "  And  his  ears,"  said 
a  fourth,  "  all  draggled  and  bleeding!  "  "  No  doubt,"  said  a  fifth, 
"  he  has  been  hanged  for  thieving!  "  And  Jesus  heard  them,  and 
looking  down  compassionately  on  the  dead  creature,  he  said  : 
"  Pearls  are  not  equal  to  the  whiteness  of  his  teeth !  " 

If  I  understand  the  Gospel,  the  gist  of  its  teachings 
is  contained  in  the  foregoing  little  story.  Love  and 
forgiveness :  finding  something  to  pity  and  admire 
even  in  a  dead  dog.     Such  is  the  religion  of  Christ. 

The  "  Christianity  "  of  the  "  unco  guid  "  is  as  like 
this  religion  as  are  the  teachings  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. 

Something  to  condemn,  the  discovery  of  wickedness 
in  the  most  innocent,  and  often  elevating,  recreations, 
such  is  the  favorite  occupation  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
*'  unco  guid."      Music  is  licentious,  laughter  wicked, 


(11 


..1: 


\  I 


M 


230 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


i ;  f  ; , 


I 


dancing  immoral,  statuary  almost  criminal,  and,  by 
and  by,  the  "  Society  for  the  Suggestion  of  Inde- 
cency," which  is  placed  under  his  immediate  patron- 
age and  supervision,  will  find  fault  with  our  going  out 
in  the  streets,  on  the  plea  that  under  our  garments  we 
carry  our  nudity. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  "unco  guid  "  is  the  successor  of 
the  Pharisee.  In  reading  Christ's  description  of  the 
latter,  you  are  immediately  struck  with  the  likeness. 
The  modern  "unco  guid"  "  loves  to  pray  standing  in 
the  churches  and  chapels  and  in  the  corners  of  the 
streets,  that  he  may  be  seen  of  men."  "  He  uses  vain 
repetitions,  for  he  thinks  that  he  shall  be  heard  for  his 
much  speaking."  "  When  he  fasts,  he  is  of  sad  coun- 
tenance; for  he  disfigures  his  face,  that  he  may  appear 
unto  men  to  fast."  There  is  not  one  feature  of  the 
portrait  that  does  not  fit  in  exactly. 

The  Jewish  *'  unco  guid "  crucified  Christ.  The 
Anglo-Saxon  one  would  crucify  Him  again  if  He  should 
return  to  earth  and  interfere  with  the  prosperous  busi- 
ness firms  that  make  use  of  His  name. 

The  "uncoguid's"  Christianity  consists  in  extoll- 
ing hisvirtues  and  ignoring  other  people's.  He  spends 
his  time  in  *'  pulling  motes  out  of  people's  eyes,"  but 
cannot  see  clearly  to  do  it,  "  owing  to  the  beams  that 
are  in  his  own."  He  overwhelms  you,  he  crushes  you, 
with  his  virtue,  and  one  of  the  greatest  treats  is  tc 
catch  him  tripping,  a  chance  which  you  may  occasion- 
ally have,  especially  when  you  meet  him  on  the  Conti- 
nent of  Europe. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  "  unco  guid  "  calls  himself  a 
Christian,  but  the  precepts  of  the  Gospel  are  the  very 


^'1 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


231 


opposite  of  those  he  practices.  The  gentle,  merciful, 
forgiving,  Man-God  of  the  Gospel  has  not  for  him  the 
charms  and  attractions  of  the  Jehovah  who  commanded 
the  cowardly,  ungrateful,  and  bloodthirsty  people  of- 
his  choice  to  treat  their  women  as  slaves,  and  to  ex- 
terminate their  enemies,  sparing  neither  old  men, 
women,  nor  children.  This  cruel,  revengeful,  implaca- 
ble deity  is  far  more  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  **  unco 
guid's  "  liking  than  the  Saviour  who  bade  His  disciples 
love  their  enemies  and  put  up  their  swords  in  the 
presence  of  his  persecutors.  The  '*  unco  guid  "  is  not 
a  Christian,  he  is  a  Jew  in  all  but  name.  And  I  will 
say  this  much  for  him,  that  the  Commandments  given 
on  Mount  Sinai  are  much  easier  to  follow  than  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount.  It  is  easier  not  to  commit 
murder  than  to  hold  out  your  right  check  after  your 
left  one  has  been  slapped.  It  is  easier  not  to  steal 
than  to  run  after  the  man  who  has  robbed  us,  in  order 
to  offer  him  what  he  has  not  taken.  It  is  easier  to 
honor  our  parents  than  to  love  our  enemies. 

The  teachings  of  the  Gospel  are  trying  to  human 
nature.  There  is  no  religion  more  difficult  to  follow; 
and  this  is  why,  in  spite  of  its  beautiful,  but  too  lofty, 
precepts,  there  is  no  religion  in  the  world  that  can 
boast  so  many  hypocrites — so  many  followers  who 
pretend  that  they  follow  their  religion,  but  who  do 
not,  and  very  probably  cannot. 

Being  unable  to  love  man,  as  he  is  bidden  in  the 
Gospel,  the  "  unco  guid  "  loves  God,  as  he  is  bidden 
in  the  Old  Testament.  He  loves  God  in  the  abstract. 
He  tells  Him  so  in  endless  prayers  and  litanies. 

For  him  Christianity  consists  in  di.scussing  theologi- 


, 

\ 

! 
i   \ 

\ 

\ 

^  ',.,-;«-* 

111 

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if 


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I  'i  i;     I 


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11 

ii'-:' 

If 

-  ■<  \ 

■'1 

h    1 

1    '    ^ 

1 

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if 

1  i 

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232 


/i   FRENCHMAN  IN  A xM ERICA. 


cal  questions,  whether  a  minister  shall  preach  with  or 
without  a  white  surplice  on,  and  in  singing  hymns 
more  or  less  out  of  tune. 

As  if  God  cculd  be  loved  to  the  exclusion  of  man  ! 
You  love  God,  after  all,  as  you  love  anybody  else,  not 
by  professions  of  love,  but  by  deeds. 

When  he  prays,  the  "  unco  guid  "  burios  his  face  in 
his  hands  or  in  his  hat.  He  screws  up  his  face,  and  the 
more  fervent  the  prayer  is  (or  the  more  people  are 
looking  at  him),  the  more  grimaces  he  makes.  Hein- 
rich  Heine,  on  coming  out  of  r n  English  church,  said 
that  "  a  blaspheming  Frenchman  must  be  a  more 
pleasing  object  in  the  sight  of  God  than  many  a  pray- 
ing Englishman."  He  had,  no  doubt,  been  looking  at 
the  "  unco  guid." 

If  you  do  not  ho>d  the  same  religious  views  as  he 
does,  you  are  a  wicKed  man,  an  atheist.  He  alone  has 
the  truth.  Being  engaged  in  a  discussion  with  an 
"  unco  guid  "  one  day,  I  told  him  that  if  God  had 
given  me  hands  to  handle,  surely  He  had  given  me  a 
little  brain  to  think.  **  You  are  right,"  he  quickly 
irtterrupted;  "  but,  with  the  hands  that  God  gave  you 
you  can  commit  a  good  action,  and  you  can  also  com- 
mit murder."  Therefore,  because  I  did  not  think  as 
he  did,  I  was  the  criminal,  for,  of  course,  he  was  the 
righteous  man.  For  all  those  who,  like  myself,  believe 
in  a  future  life,  there  is,  I  believe,  a  great  treat  in  store  : 
the  sight  of  the  face  he  will  make,  when  his  place  is 
assigned  to  him  in  the  next  world.    Qui  mourra,verra. 

Anglo-Saxon  land  is  governed  by  the  "unco  guid." 
Good  society  cordially  despises  him  ;  the  aristocracy 
of  Anglo-Saxon  intelligence — philosophers,  scientists, 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN   A .V ERICA. 


'II 


ave 


men  of  letters,  artists— simply  loathe  him  ;  but  all  h„_ 
to  bow  to  his  rule,  and  submit  their  works  to  his 
most  incompetent  criticism,  and  all  are  afraid  of  him. 


Oil  ID   Tcfi'iM// 


THE   POOR   man's   SABBATH 


In  a  moment  of  wounded  national  pride,  Sydney 
Smith  once  exclaimed  :  «'  What  a  pity  it  is  we  have 
no  amusements  in  England  except  vice  and  religion  !" 
The  same  exclamation  might  be  uttered  to-day,  and  the 


it 


.!^ 


J   ,' 


ill 


234 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


\\m 


I*:  .  iL 


■\-\ 


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cause  laid  at  the  Anglo-Saxon  "  uncogutd's  "  door.  It 
is  he  who  is  responsible  for  the  degradation  of  the  Brit- 
ish lower  classes,  by  refusing  to  enable  them  to  elevate 
their  minds  on  Sundays  at  the  right  of  the  master- 
pieces of  art  which  are  contained  in  the  museums,  or 
at  the  sound  of  the  symphonies  of  Beethoven  and 
Mozart,  which  might  be  given  to  the  people  at  reduced 
prices  on  that  day.  The  poor  people  must  choose 
between  vice  and  religion,  and  as  the  wretches  know 
they  are  not  wanted  in  the  churches,  they  go  to  the 
taverns. 

It  is  this  same  "  unco  guid"  who  is  responsible  for 
the  state  of  the  streets  in  the  large  cities  of  Great 
Briti  in  by  refusing  to  allow  vice  to  be  regulated.  If  you 
were  to  add  the  amount  of  immorality  to  be  found  in 
the  streets  of  Paris,  Berlin,  Vienna,  and  the  other  capitals 
of  Europe,  no  fair-minded  Englishman  "  who  knows" 
would  contradict  me,  if  I  said  that  the  total  thus  ob- 
tained would  be  much  below  the  amount  supplied  by 
London  alone  ;  but  the  **  unco  guid  "  stays  at  home  of 
an  evening,  advises  you  to  do  the  same,  and  ignoring, 
o  ?  ^tending  to  ignore,  what  is  going  on  round  his 
o\.  .1  nouse,  he  prays  for  the  conversion — of  the  French. 

The  "  unco  guid  "  thinks  that  his  own  future  safety 
is  assured,  so  he  prays  for  his  neighbors'.  He  reminds 
one  of  certain  Scots,  who  inhabit  two  small  islands  on 
the  west  coast  of  Scotland.  Tneir  piety  is  really  most 
touching.  Every  Sunday  in  their  churches,  they  com- 
mend to  God's  care  "  the  puir  inhabitants  of  the  two 
adjacent  islands  of  Britain  and  Ireland." 

A  few  weeks  ago,  there  appeared  in  a  Liverpool  pa- 
per a  letter,  signed  "  A  Lover  of  Reverence,"  in  which 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


23s 


this  anonymous  person  complained  of  a  certain  lec- 
turer, who  had  indulged  in  profane  remarks.  "  \  was 
not  present  myself,"  he  or  she  said,  **  but  have  heard  of 
what  took  place,"  etc.  You  see,  this  person  was  not 
present,  but  as  a  good  **  Christian,"  he  hastened  to 
judge.  However,  this  is  nothing.  In  the  letter,  I 
read :  "  Fortunately,  there  are  in  Liverpool,  a  few 
Christians,  like  myself,  always  on  the  watch,  and 
ever  looking  after  our  Maker's  honor." 

Fortunate  Liverpool !  What  a  proud  position  for 
the  Almighty,  to  be  placed  in  Liverpool  under  the 
protection  of  the  "Lover  of  Reverence  ! ' 

Probably  this  "  unco  guid  "  and  myself  would  not  agree 
on  the  definition  of  the  word  profanity,  for,  if  I  had 
written  and  published  such  a  letter,  I  would  consider 
myself  guilty,  not  only  of  profanity,  but  of  blasphemy. 

If  the  **  unco  guid  "  is  the  best  product  of  Chris- 
tianity, Christianity  must  be  pronounced  a  ghastly  fail- 
ure, and  I  should  feel  inclined  to  exclaim,  with  the  late 
Dean  Milman,  "  If  all  this  is  Christianity,  it  is  high 
time  we  should  try  something  else — say  the  religion 
of  Christ,  for  instance." 


^11, ! 
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W' y'  ■ 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

Milwaukee— A  Well-filled  Day— Reflections 
ON  THE  Scotch  in  America— Chicago  Criti- 
cisms. 


Mihvaukcc,  February  25. 

ARRIVED  here  from  Detroit  yesterday.  Mil- 
.  waukee  is  a  city  of  over  two  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants,  a  very  large  proportion  of  whom  are  Ger- 
mans, who  have  come  here  to  settle  down,  and  wish 
good  luck  to  tile  Vaterland,  at  the  respectful  distance 
of  five  thousand  miles. 

At  the  station  I  was  met  by  Mr.  John  L.  Mitchell, 
the  railway  king,  and  by  a  compatriot  of  mine,  M.  A. 
de  Guerville,  a  young  enthusiast  who  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  check  the  German  invasion  of  Milwaukee,  and 
has  succeeded  in  starting  a  French  society,  composed 
of  the  leading  inhabitants  of  the  city.  On  arriving,  I 
found  a  heavy  but  delightful  programme  to  go  through 
during  the  day:  a  lunch  to  be  given  me  by  the  ladies 
at  Milwaukee  College  at  one  o'clock ;  a  reception  by 
the  French.. Club  at  Mrs.  John  L.  Mitchell's  house  at 
four  ;  a  dinner  at  six  ivcxy.  lecture  at/eight,'and  a  tetrep-- 
tion  and  a  supper  by  the  PressGiub  at  half-past  ten ;  the 
rest  of  the  evening  to  be  spent  as  circumstances  would 
allow  or  suggest.  I  was  to  be  the  guest  of  Mr.  Mit- 
chell at  his  magnificent  house  in  town; 


f' 


i; 


A  CITIZEN   OF   MILWAUKEE. 


if  I 


w 


ill 


Hi 


/.  • 


ru'''^ 


'1        - 

'     i    '   '. 

'■'     )!          : 

j: 

1 

ll  • 

238 


.1   FREXCllMA.y  IX  AMERICA. 


"  Good,"  I  said,  "  let  us  begin." 

•  •  »  • 

Went  tliroiigli  the  whole  programme.  Tlic  recep- 
tion by  the  French  Club,  in  the  beautiful  Moorish- 
looking  rooms  of  Mrs.  John  L.  Mitchell's  superb  man- 
sion, was  a  great  success.  I  was  amazed  to  meet  so 
many  French-speaking  people,  and  much  amused  to 
see  my  young  compatriot  go  from  one  group  to  an- 
other, to  satisfy  himself  that  all  the  members  of  the 
club  were  speaking  French  ;  for  I  must  tell  you  that, 
among  the  statutes  of  the  club,  there  is  one  that  im- 
poses a  fine  of  ten  cents  on  any  member  caught  in 
the  act  of  speaking  English  at  the  gatherings  of  the 
association. 

The  lecture  was  a  great  success.  The  New  Plym- 
outh Church*  was  packed,  and  the  audience  extremely 
warm  and  appreciative.  The  supper  offered  to  me  by 
the  Press  Club  proved  most  enjoyable.  And  yet,  that 
was  not  all.  At  one  o'clock  the  Press  Club  repaired 
to  a  perfect  German  Braiierei,  where  we  spent  an  hour 
in  Bavaria,  drinking  excellent  Bavarian  beer  while 
chatting,  telling  stories,  etc. 

I  will  omit  to  mention  at  what  time  we  returned 
home,  so  as  noi  to  tell  tales  about  my  kind  host. 

In  spite  of  the  late  hours  we  kept  last  night,  break- 
fast was  punctually  served  at  eight  this  morning. 
First  course,  porridge.  Thanks  to  the  kind,  thoroughly 
Scotch  hospitality  of  Mr.  John  L.  Mitchell  and  his 

♦Very  strange,  that  church  with  its  stalls,  galleries,  and  boxes — 
a  perfect  theater.  From  the  platform  it  was  interesting  to  watch 
the  immense  throng,  packing  the  place  from  floor  to  ceiling,  in 
front,  on  the  sides,  behind,  everywhere. 


//    Fk'KXCllMAX  liV  AMERICA. 


239 


cliarmiiifj  family,  tlianks  to  the  many  friends  and 
sympatliizcrs  I  met  here,  I  shall  carry  away  a  most 
pleasant  recollection  of  this  lar^e  and  bcautifid  city. 
I  shall  leave  Milwaukee  with  much  regret.  Indeed, 
the  worst  feature  of  a  thick  lecturing  tour  is  to  feci, 
almost  every  day,  that  you  leave  behind  friends  whom 
you  may  never  see  again. 

I  lecture  at  the  Central  Music  Hall,  Chicago,  this 
evening ;  but  Chicago  is  reached  from  here  in  two 
hours  and  a  half,  and  I  will  go  as  late  in  the  day  as  I 
can. 

No  more  beds  for  me  now,  until  I  reach  Albany,  in 
three  days. 


The  railway  king  in  Wisconsin  is  a  Scotchman. 
I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  it.  The  iron  king  in  Penn- 
sylvania  is  a  Scotchman,  Mr.  Andrew  Carnegie.  The 
oil  king  of  Ohio  is  a  Scotchman,  Mr.  Alexander  Mac- 
donald.  The  silver  king  of  California  is  a  Scotchman, 
Mr.  Mackay.  The  dry-goods-store  king  of  New  York 
— he  is  dead  now — was  a  Scotchman,  Mr.  Stewart. 
It  is  just  the  same  in  Canada,  just  the  same  in  Aus- 
tralia, and  all  over  the  English-speaking  world.  The 
Scotch  are  successful  everywhere,  and  the  new  coun- 
tries offer  them  fields  for  their  industry,  their  perse- 
verance, and  their  shrewdness.  There  you  see  them 
landowners,  directors  of  companies,  at  the  head  of  all 
the  great  enterprises.  In  the  lower  stations  of  life, 
thanks  to  their  frugality  and  saving  habits,  you  find 
them  thriving  everywhere.  You  go  to  the  manufactory, 
you  are  told  that  the  foremen  are  Scotch. 

I  have,  perhaps,  a  better  illustration  still. 


t"*! 


rf 


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240 


yi    FREh^ClIMAiV  IN  AMERICA. 


If  you  travel  in  Canada,  either  by  the  Grand  Trunk 
or  tile  Canadian  Pacific,  you  will  meet  in  the  last  parlor 
car,  near  the  stove,  a  man  whose  dut)'-  consists  in  see- 


TALES   OF   OLD   SCOTLAND. 


ing  that,  all  along  the  line,  the  workmen  are  at  their 
posts,  digging,  repairing,  etc.  These  workmen  are  all 
day  exposed  to  the  Canadian  temperature,  and  often 
have  to  work  knee-deep  in  the  snow.    Well,  you  will 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


241 


find  that  the  man  with  small,  keen  eyes,  who  is  able  to 
do  hib  work  in  the  railroad  car,  warming  himself  com- 
fortably by  the  stove,  is  invariably  a  Scotchman,  There 
is  only  one  berth  with  a  stove  in  the  whole  business; 
it  is  he  who  has  got  it.  Many  times  I  have  had  a 
chat  with  that  Scotchman  on  the  subject  of  old  Scot- 
land. Many  times  I  have  sat  with  him  in  the  little 
smoking-room  of  the  parlor  car,  listening  to  the  his- 
tory of  his  life,  or,  maybe,  a  few  good  Scotch  anec- 
dotes. 


I 


In  the  train  from  Chicago  to  Cleveland,  February  26. 

I  arrived  in  Chicago  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
yesterday,  dined,  dressed,  and  lectured  at  the  Music 
Hall  under  the  auspices  of  the  Drexel  free  Kinder- 
garten, There  was  a  large  audience,  and  all  passed 
off  very  well.  After  the  lecture,  I  went  to  the  Grand 
Pacific  Hotel,  changed  clothes,  and  went  on  board  the 
sleeping  car  bound  for  Cleveland,  O. 


VI 


The  criticisms  of  my  lecture  in  this  morning's  Chicago 
papers  are  lively. 

The  Herald  calls  me: 

A  Happen  little  Frenchman.  Five  feet  eleven  in  height,  and  two 
hundred  pounds  in  weight ! 

The  Times  says : 

That  splendid  trinity  of  the  American  peerage,  the  colonel,  the 
judge,  and  the  proffssor,  turned  out  in  full  force  at  Central  Music 
Hall  last  night.  The  lecturer  is  a  magician  who  serves  up  your 
many   little   def<'ts,  peculiar  to  the  auditors'  own  country,  on  a 


I 


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A   CELEBRATED    EXECUTIONER. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


243 


silver  salver,  so  artistically  garnished  that  one  forgets  the  sarcasm 
in  admiration  of  the  sauce. 

The  Tribune  is  quite  as  complimentary  and  quite  as 
lively  : 

His  satire  is  as  keen  as  the  blade  of  the  celebrated  executioner 
who  could  cut  a  man's  head  off,  and  the  unlucky  person  not  know 
it  until  a  pinch  of  snuff  would  cause  a  sneeze,  and  the  decapitated 
head  would,  much  to  its  surprise,  find  itself  rolling  over  in  the 
dust. 

And  after  a  good  breakfast  at  Toledo  station,  I  en- 
joyed an  hour  poring  over  the  Chicago  papers. 

I  lecture  in  Cleveland  to-night,  and  am  still  in  *'  the 
neighborhood  of  Chicago." 


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CHAPTER   XXVII. 

The  Monotony  of  Traveling  in  the  States- 
"  Manon  Lescaut"  in  America. 


lu  the  train  from  Cleveland  to  Albany^  February  27. 

AM  getting  tired  and  ill.  I  am  not  bed-ridden, 
r\.  but  am  fairly  well  rid  of  a  bed.  I  have  lately 
spent  as  many  nights  in  railway  cars  as  in   hotel  beds. 

Am  on  my  way  to  Albany,  just  outside  "  the  neigh- 
borhood '  f  Chicago."  I  lecture  in  that  place  to-night, 
and  shall  get  to  New  York  to-morrow. 

I  am  suffering  from  the  monotony  of  life.  My 
grcc;test  objection  to  America  (indeed  I  do  not  believe 
I  have  any  other)  is  the  sameness  of  everything.  I 
understand  the  Americans  who  run  away  to  Europe 
every  year  to  see  an  old  church,  a  wall  covered  with 
moss  and  ivy,  some  good  old-fashioned  peasantry  not 
dressed  like  the  rest  of  the  world. 

What  strikes  a  European  most,  in  his  rambles 
through  America,  is  the  absence  of  the  picturesque. 
The  country  is  monotonous,  and  eternally  the  same. 
Burned-up  fields,  stumps  of  trees,  forests,  wooden 
houses  all  built  on  the  same  pattern.  All  the  stations 
you  pass  are  alike.  All  the  towns  are  alike.  To  say 
that  an  American  town  is  ten  times  larger  than  another 
simply  means  that  it  has  ten  times  more  blocks  of  houses. 

844 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


245 


All  the  streets  are  alike,  with  the  same  telegraph  poles, 
the  same  "  Indian  "  as  a  sign  for  tobacconists,  the  same 
red,  white,  and  blue  pole  as  a  sign  for  barbers.  All  the 
hotels  are  the  same, 
all  the  menus  are  the 
same,  all  the  plates 
and  dishes  the  same 
— why,  all  the  ink- 
stands are  the  same. 
All  the  people  are 
dressed  in  the  same 
way.  When  you 
meet  an  American 
with  all  his  beard, 
you  want  to  shake 
his  hands  and  thank 
him  for  not  shaving 
it,  as  ninety-nine  out 
of  every  hundred 
Americans  do.  Of 
course  I  have  not 
seen  California,  the 
Rocky  Mountains, 
and  many  other  parts 
of  America  where  the 

scenery  is  very  beautiful  ;  but  I  think  my  remarks  can 
apply  to  those  States  most  likely  to  be  visited  by  a 
lecturer,  that  is,  Ohio,  Michigan,  Indiana  Illinois, 
Wisconsin,  Minnesota,  and  others,  during  the  winter 
months,  after  the  Indian  summer,  and  before  the  re- 
newal of  verdure  in  May. 


lUK   SAME    '  INDIAN.' 


\V 


1 


I; 


\ril 


'•i: 


VI  V'' 


Hi 


246 


A  FKF.Xl'/iAf.LV  AV  AMERICA. 


After  breakfast,  that  indefatigable  man  of  business, 
that  intolerable  bore,  who  incessantly  bangs  the  doors 
and  brings  his  stock-in-trade  to  the  cars,  came  and 
whispered  in  my  ears  : 

•*  New  book — just  out — a  forbidden  book !  " 
"  A  forbidden  book  !     What  is  that  ?  "  I  inquired. 
He  showed  it  to  me.     It  was  "  Manon  Lescaut." 
Is   it    possible?     That    literary   and    artistic   chef- 
(Tceuvre,  which  has  been  the  original  type  of  "  Paul  et 

Virginie"  and  "Atala"; 
that  touching  drama, 
which  the  prince  of  critics, 
Jules  Janin,  declared 
would  be  sufficient  to  save 
contemporary  literature 
from  complete  oblivion, 
dragged  in  the  mire, 
clothed  in  a  dirty  coarse 
English  garb !  and  ad- 
vertised as  a  forbidden 
book!  Three  generations 
of  French  people  have 
wept  over  the  pathetic 
story.  Here  it  is  now, 
stripped  of  its  unique 
style  and  literary  beauty,  sold  to  the  American 
public  as  an  improper  book — a  libel  by  translation 
on  a  genius.  British  authors  have  complained  for 
years  that  their  books  were  stolen  in  America.  They 
have  suffered  in  pockets,  it  is  true,  but  their  reputation 
has  spread  through  an  immense  continent.  What  is 
their  complaint  compared  to  that  of  the  French  au- 


NEW   BOOK   JUST   OUT — A    FOR- 
BIDDEN  BOOK  !  " 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  247 

thors,  who  have  the  misfortune  to  see  their  works 
translated  into  American  ?  It  is  not  only  their  pockets 
that  suffer,  but  their  reputation.  The  poor  French 
author  is  at  the  mercy  of  incapable  and  malicious 
translators  hired  at  starvation  wages  by  the  American 
pirate  publisher.  He  is  liable  to  a  species  of  defama- 
tion  ten  times  worse  than  robbery. 

And  as  I  looked  at  that  copy  of  "  Manon  Lescaut," 
I  almost  felt  grateful  that  Prevost  was  dead. 


# 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

For  the  First  Time  I  See  an  American  Paper 
Abuse  Me— Albany  to  New  York— A  Lecture 
at  Daly's  Theater— Afternoon  Audiences. 


! 


Ncio  York,  February  23. 

THE  American  press  has  always  been  very  good  to 
me.  P'airness  one  has  a  right  to  expect,  but  kind- 
ness is  an  extra  that  is  not  always  thrown  in,  and 
therefore  the  uniform  amiability  of  the  American  press 
toward  me  could  not  fail  to  strike  me  most  agreeably. 
Up  to  yesterday  I  had  not  seen  a  single  unkind 
notice  or  article,  but  in  the  Albany  Express  of  yester- 
day morning  I  read : 

This  evening  the  people  of  Albany  are  asked  to  listen  to  a  lecture 
by  Max  O'Rell,  who  was  in  this  country  two  years  ago,  and  was 
treated  with  distinguished  courtesy.  When  he  went  home  he 
published  a  book  tilled  with  deliberate  misstatements  and  willful 
exaggerations  of  the  traits  of  the  American  people. 

This  paper  "  has  reason,"  as  the  French  say.  My 
book  contained  one  misstatement,  at  all  events,  and 
that  was  that  "all  Americans  have  a  great  sense  of 
humor."  You  may  say  that  the  French  are  a  witty 
people,  but  that  does  not  mean  that  France  contains 
no  fools.     It  is  rather  painful  to  have  to  explain  such 

348 


M'?" 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


249 


things,  but  I  do  so  for  the  benefit  of  that  editor  and 
with  apologies  to  the  general  reader. 

In  spite  of  this  diverting  little  "par,"  I  had  an  im- 
mense  audience  last  night  in  Harmanus  Bleecker 
Hall,  a  new  and  magnificent  construction  in  Albany, 


RIP  VAN   WINKLE. 


excellent,  no  doubt,  for  music,  but  hardly  adapted 
for  lecturing  in,  on  account  of  its  long  and  narrow 
shape. 

I  should  have  liked  to  stay  longer  in  Albany,  which 
struck  me  as  being  a  remarkably  beautiful  place,  but 
having  to  lecture  in  New  York  this  afternoon,  I  took 
the  vestibule  train  early  this  morning  for  New  York. 
This  journey    is    exceedingly  picturesque    along   the 


W 
iiiil 


)! 


I'     ^(i  V 


M    \\\ 


^5° 


//    I'REXCIIMA  \   /y  AMERICA. 


PJ  H 


I'M'     I 


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'i\\ 


Hudson  River,  traveling  as  you  do  between  two 
ranges  of  wooded  hills,  dotted  over  with  beautiful 
habitations,  and  now  and  then  passing  a  little  town 
bathing  its  feet  in  the  water.  In  the  distance  one  gets 
good  views  of  the  Catskill  Mountains,  immortalized  by 
Washington  Irving  in  **  Rip  Van  Winkle." 

On  boarding  the  train,  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to 
read  the  news  of  yesterday.  Imagine  my  amusement, 
on  opening  the  Albany  Express  to  read  the  following 
extract  from  the  report  of  my  lecture  : 

He  has  an  agreeable  but  not  a  strong  voice.  This  was  the  only 
point  that  could  be  criticised  in  his  lecture,  which  consisted  of 
many  clever  sketches  of  the  humorous  side  of  the  charact  r  of 
different  Anglo-Saxon  nations.  His  humor  is  keen,  lie  evidently 
is  a  great  admirer  of  America  and  Americans,  only  bringing  into 
ridicule  some  of  their  most  conspicuously  objectionable  traits.  .  .  . 
His  lecture  was  entertaining,  clever,  witty  and  thoroughly  enjoy- 
able. 

The  most  amur,ing  part  of  all  this  is  that  the  Ameri- 
can sketches  which  I  introduced  into  my  lecture  last 
night,  and  which  seemed  to  have  struck  the  Albany 
Express  so  agreeably,  were  all  extracts  from  the  book 
•'  filled  with  deliberate  misstatements  and  willful  ex- 
aggerations of  the  traits  of  the  American  people." 
Well,  after  all,  there  is  humor,  unconscious  humor,  in 
the  Albany  Express. 

■  •  •  •  • 

Arrived  at  the  Grand  Central  Station  in  New  York 
at  noon,  I  gave  up  my  check  to  a  transfer  man,  but 
learned  to  my  chagrin  that  the  vestibule  train  from 
Albany  had  carried  no  baggage,  and  that  my  things 
would  only  arrive  by  the  next  train    at    about  three 


J   FREXCriMA'     IX  AMERICA. 


251 


o'clock.      Pleasant    news  for  a  man  who  was  due  to 
address  an  audience  at  three ! 

There  was  only  one  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  Off 
I  went  post-haste  to  a  ready-made  tailor's,  who  sold 
me  a  complete  fit-out  from  head 
to  foot.  I  did  not  examine  the 
cut  and  fit  of  each  garment  ver}- 
minutely,  but  went  off  satisfied 
that  I  was  presentini^  a  neat  and 
respectable  appearance.  Before 
going  on  the  stage,  however,  I 
discovered  that  the  sleeves  of  the 
new  coat,  though  perfectly  smooth 
and  well-behaved  so  long  as  the 
arms  inside  them  were  bent  at  the 
elbow,  developed  a  remarkable 
cross-twist  as  soon  as  I  let  my 
arms  hang  straight  down. 

By  means  of  holding  it  firm 
with  the  middle  finger,  I  managed 
to  keep  the  recalcitrant  sleeve  in 
position,  and  the  affair  passed  off 
very  well.  Only  my  friends  remarked,  after  the  lec- 
ture, that  they  thought  I  looked  a  little  bit  stiff, 
especially  when  making  my  bow  to  the  audience. 


\  LiTiLE  iJiT  sruq-.' 


ri. 


My  lecture  at  Daly's  Theater  this  afternoon  was 
given  under  the  auspices  of  the  Bethlehem  Day  Nur- 
sery, and  I  am  thankful  to  think  that  this  most  inter- 
esting association  is  a  little  richer  to  day  than  it  was 
yesterday.  For  an  afternoon  audience  it  was  remark- 
ably warm  and  responsive. 


I:!: 


f 

f 

i 

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i 

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n^ 


A    FREXCIIMAN  IX  AMERICA. 


I  Ikivc  many  times  Icctmcd  to  afternoon  audiences, 
but  have  not,  as  a  rule.enjoycci  it.  Afternoon  "  shows" 
are  a  mistake.  Uo  not  ask  me  why  ;  but  think  of 
those  you  have  ever  been  to,  and  see  if  you  have  • 
lively  recollection  of  them.  There  is  a  time  for  every- 
thing.  Fancy  playing  the  guitar  under  your  lady  love's 
window  by  daylight,  for  instance  ! 

Afternoon  audiences  are  kid-gloved  ones.  There  is 
but  a  sprinkling  of  men,  and  so  the  applause,  when  it 
comes,  is  a  feeble  affair,  more  chilling  almost  than 
silence.  In  some  fashionable  towns  it  is  bad  form  to 
applaud  at  all  in  the  afternoon.  1  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  the  effect  produced  one  afternoon  in  Chelt- 
enham by  the  vigorous  applause  of  a  sympathizing 
friend  of  mine,  sitting  in  the  reserved  seats.  How  all 
the  other  reserved  seats  craned  their  necks  in  credulous 
astonishment  to  get  a  view  of  this  innovator,  this  outer 
barbarian  !  He  was  new  to  the  wondrous  ways  of  the 
Cliillitonians.  In  the  same  audience  was  a  lady,  Irish 
and  very  charming,  as  I  found  out  on  later  acquaint- 
ance, who  showed  her  appreciation  from  time  to  time 
by  clapping  the  tips  of  her  fingers  together  noiselessly, 
while  her  glance  said  :  "  I  should  very  much  like  to 
applauJ,  but  you  know  I  can't  do  it ;  we  are  in  Chelt- 
enham, aii'l  such  a  thing  is  bad  form,  especially  in  the 
afternoon." 

Afternoon  audiences  in  the  southern  health  resorts 
of  England  are  probably  the  least  inspiriting  and  in- 
spiring of  all.  There  are  the  sick,  the  lame,  the  halt. 
Some  of  them  are  very  interesting  people,  but  a  large 
proportion  appear  to  be  suffering  more  from  the  bore- 
dom of  life  than  any  other  complaint,  and  look  as  if 


A   J-A'/:XC//.]/.lX  /.V  A  ME  A' /C  A. 


253 


it  would  do  them  j^ood  to  follow  out  the  well-known 
advice,  "  Live  on  rjixpcnce  a  day,  and  earn  it."  It  is 
hard  work  entertaining  people  who  have  done  every- 
thing,  seen  everything,  tasted  everj'thing,  been  every- 


THE   GOUTY   MAN. 


where — people  whose  sole  aim  is  to  kill  time.  A  fair 
sprinkling  are  gouty.  They  spend  most  of  their  wak- 
ing hours  in  a  bath-chair.  As  a  listener,  the  gouty 
man  is  sometimes  decidedly  funny.     lie  gives  signs  of 


:k 


:llH 


254 


A   FRENCIIMA.V  IN  AMERICA. 


I  til 


v* 


life  from  time  to  time  by  a  vigorous  slap  on  his  thigh 
and  a  vicious  looking  kick.  Before  I  began  to  know 
him,  I  used  to  wonder  whether  it  was  my  discourse 
producing  some  effect  upon  him. 

I  am  not  afraid  of  meeting  these  people  in  America. 
Few  people  are  bored  here,  all  are  happy  to  live,  and 
all  work  and  are  busy.  American  men  die  of  brain 
fever,  but  seldom  of  the  gout.  If  an  American  saw 
that  he  must  spend  his  life  wheeled  in  a  bath-chair,  he 
would  reflect  that  rivers  are  numerous  in  America,  and 
he  would  go  and  take  a  plunge  into  one  of  them. 


:;  !ii 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 


Wanderings  through  New  York— Lecture  at 
THE  Harmonie  Club — Visit  to  the  Century 
Club, 


j\\'Zi'  ]'(>;-/',  MarcJi  I. 

THE  more  I  see  New  York,  the  more  I  like 
it. 

After  lunch  I  had  a  drive  through  Central  Park  and 
Riverside  Park,  along  the  Hudson,  and  thoroughly 
enjoyed  it.  I  returned  to  the  Everett  House  through 
Fifth  Avenue.  I  have  never  seen  Central  Park  in 
summer,  but  I  can  realize  how  beautiful  it  must  be 
when  the  trees  are  clothed.  To  have  such  a  park  in 
the  heart  of  the  city  is  perfectly  marvelous.  It  is 
true  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  superb  Catholic 
Cathedral,  Fifth  Avenue  ha«;  no  monument  worth 
mentioning,  but  the  succession  of  stately  mansions  is 
a  pleasant  picture  to  the  eye.  What  a  pity  this 
cathedral  cannot  stand  in  a  square  in  front  of  some 
long  thoroughfare,  it  would  have  a  splendid  effect.  I 
know  this  was  out  of  the  question.  Built  as  New 
York  is,  the  cr^thedral  could  only  take  the  place  of  a 
block.  It  simply  represents  so  many  numbers  be- 
tween Fiftieth  aino  Fifty-first  streets  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

In  the  Prtrk  I  saw  statues  of  Shakespeare,  Walter 
Scott,  and  Robert  Burns.     I  should  have  liked  to  see 

839 


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I'll  • 

i  ; 


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•1-: 


256 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


those  of  Longfellow,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  and  many 
other  celebrities  of  the  land.  Washington,  Franklin, 
and  Lincoln  are  practically  the  only  Americans  whose 
statues  you  see  all  over  the  country.  They  play  here 
the  part  that  Wellington  and  Nelson  play  in  England. 
After  all,  the  "  bosses"  and  the  local  politicians  who  ' 
run  the  towns  probably  never  heard  of  Longfellow, 
Bryant,  Poe,  etc. 

•  •  •  •  • 

At  four  o'clock,  Mr.  Thomas  Nast,  the  celebrated 
caricaturist,  called.  I  was  delighted  to  make  his 
acquaintance,  and  found  him  a  most  charming  man. 

I  dined  with  General  Horace  Porter  and  a  few  other 
friends  at  the  Union  League  Club.  The  witty  general 
was  in  his  best  vein. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  lectured  at  the  Harmonie  Club, 
and  had  a  large  and  most  appreciative  audience,  com- 
posed of  the  pick  of  the  Israelite  community  in  New 
York. 

After  the  lecture  I  attended  one  of  the  ** Saturdays" 
at  the  Century  Club,  and  met  Mr.  Kendal,  who,  with 
his  talented  wife,  is  having  a  triumphant  progress 
through  the  United  States. 

There  is  no  gathering  in  the  world  where  you  can 
see  so  many  beautiful,  intelligent  faces  as  at  the  Cen- 
tury Club.  There  you  see  gathered  together  the 
cleverest  men  of  a  nation  whose  chief  characteristic 
is  cleverness. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 


Visit  to  the  Brooklyn  Academy  of  Music- 
Rev.  Dr.  Talmage. 


Neiv  York,  March  2. 

WENT  to  hear  Dr.  T.  de  Witt  Talmage  this  morn- 
ing at  the  Academy  of  Music,  Brooklyn. 

What  an  actor  America  has  lost  by  Dr.  Talmage 
choosing  the  pulpit  in  preference  to  the  stage  ! 

The  Academy  of  Music  was  crowded.  Standing- 
room  only.  For  an  old-fashioned  European,  to  see  a 
theater,  with  its  boxes,  stalls,  galleries,  open  for  divine 
service  was  a  strange  sight;  but  we  had  not  gone  very 
far  into  the  service  before  it  became  plain  to  me  that 
there  was  nothing  divine  about  it.  The  crowd  had 
come  there,  not  to  worship  God,  but  to  hear  Mr.  Tal- 
mage. 

At  the  door  the  programme  was  distributed.  It  con- 
sisted of  six  hymns  to  be  interluded  with  prayers  by 
the  doctor.  Between  the  fifth  and  sixth,  he  delivered 
the  lecture,  or  the  sermon,  if  you  insist  on  the  name, 
and  during  the  sixth  there  was  the  collection,  that 
hinge  on  which  the  whole  service  turns  in  Protestant 
places  of  worship. 

I  took  a  seat  and  awaited  with  the  rest  the  entrance 
of  Dr.  Talmage.  There  was  subdued  conversation  go- 
as? 


<    1  ■ 

■- 

t  1           '     ' 

!     :i- 

i 

i  1^ 

i       : 

t 
'<       \ 

if 


i: 


ij-'.    , 

,-■51  '  1  ■ 
It  ]'i' 


-'5« 


./  FA7:.vc/nrLV  lv  a .^r erica. 


ing  on  all  'around,  just  as  there  would  be  at  a  theater 
or  concert :  in  fact,  throughout  the  whole  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, there  was  no  sign  of  a  silent  lifting  up  of  the 

spirit  in  worship. 
Not  a  person  in  that 
strange  congregation, 
went  on  his  or  her 
knees  to  pray.  Most 
of  them  put  one  hand 
in  front  of  the  face, 
and  this  was  as  near 
as  they  got  that  morn- 
ing to  an  attitude  of 
devotion.  Except  for 
this,  and  the  fact  that 
they  did  not  applaud, 
there  was  absolutely 
no  difference  between 
them  and  any  other 
theater  audience  I 
K  ever  saw. 

The  monotonous 
hymns  were  accom- 
panied by  a  cornet-a- 
piston,  which  lent  a 
certain  amount  of  life  to  them,  but  very  little 
religious  harmony.  That  cornet  was  the  key-note 
of  the  whole  performance.  The  hymns,  composed, 
I  believe,  for  Dr.  Talmage's  flock,  are  not  of 
high  literary  value.  "  General "  Booth  would 
probably  hesitate  to  include  such  in  the  repertoire 
of  the   Salvation   Army.     Judge  of  them   for  your- 


THE   LEADER   OF  THE   CHOIR. 


.'/    FREXCHAfA.V  I.V  AMERICA. 


259 


self.      Here   are   three  illustrations    culled    from    the 
programme  : 

Sing,  O  sing,  ye  Iieirs  of  glory  I 
Shout  your  triumphs  as  you  go  : 
Zion's  gates  will  open  for  you, 
You  shall  find  an  entrance  through. 

'Tis  the  promise  of  God,  full  salvation  to  give 
Unto  him  who  on  Jesus,  his  Son,  will  believe. 

Though  the  pathway  be  lonely,  and  dangerous  too,  {sic) 
Surely  Jesus  is  able  to  carry  me  thro*. 

This  is  poetry  such  as  you  find  inside  Christmas 
crackers. 

Another  hymn  began  : 

One  more  day's  work  for  Jesus, 
One  less  of  life  for  me  ! 

I  could  not  help  thinking  that  there  would  be  good 
employment  for  a  prophet  of  God,  with  a  stout  whip, 
in  the  congregations  of  the  so-called  faithful  of  to-day. 
I  have  heard  them  by  hundreds  shouting  al  the  top  of 
their  voices : 

0  Paradise,  O  Paradise! 
'Tis  weary  waiting  here  ; 

1  long  to  be  where  Jesus  is. 
To  feel,  to  see  him  near. 

O  Paradise,  O  Paradise  ! 

I  greatly  long  to  see 
The  special  place  my  dearest  Lord, 

In  love,  prepare?  for  me  ! 

Knowing  something  of  those  people  outside  the 
church  doors,  I  have  often  thought  what  an  edifying 
sight  it  would  be  if  the  Lord  deigned  to  listen  and 


;-! 


1!     * 


TT 

T 

i  ' 

'fr 

I  ■ 

1          7  • 

'          ■        1 

'I 

ffflR 

1 

i  ■ 


I 


i:-r  ; 

Mi-!' 


260 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


-r'» 


take  a  few  of  them  at  their  wu/tl.  If  the  fearless 
Christ  were  here  on  earth  again,  what  crowds  of  cheats 
and  humbugs  he  would  drive  out  of  the  Temple  !  And 
foremost,  I  fancy,  would  go  the  people  who,  instead  of 
thanking  their  Maker  who  allows  the  blessed  sun  to 
shine,  the  birds  to  sing,  and  the  flowers  to  grow  for 
them  here,  howl  and  whine  lies  about  longing  for  the 
joy  of  moving  on  to  the  better  world,  to  the  "  special 
place  "  that  is  prepared  for  them.  If  there  be  a  better 
world,  it  will  be  too  good  for  hypocrites. 

After  hymn  the  fifth,  Dr.  Talmage  takes  the  floor. 
The  audience  settled  in  their  seats  in  evident  anticipa- 
tion of  a  good  time,  and  it  was  soon  clear  to  me  that 
the  discourse  was  not  to  be  dull  at  any  rate.  But  I 
waited  in  vain  for  a  great  thought,  a  lofty  idea,  or  re- 
fined language.  There  came  none.  Nothing  but  com- 
monplaces given  out  v/itii  tricks  of  voice  and  the  ges- 
tures of  a  consummate  actor.  The  modulations  of  the 
voice  have  been  studied  with  care,  no  single  platform 
trick  was  missing. 

The  doctor  cornes  on  the  stage,  which  is  about  forty 
feet  wide.  He  begins  slowly.  The  flow  of  language 
is  great,  and  he  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  word.  Motion- 
less, in  his  lowest  tones,  he  puts  a  question  to  us. 
Nobody  replies,  of  course.  Thereupon  he  paces  wildly 
up  and  down  the  whole  length  of  the  stage.  Then, 
bringing  up  in  full  view  of  his  auditors,  he  stares  at 
them,  crosses  his  arms,  gives  a  double  and  tremendous 
stamp  on  the  boards,  and  in  a  terrific  voice  he  repeats 
the  question,  and  answers  it.  The  desired  effect  is 
produced  :  he  never  misses  fire. 

Being  an  old  stager  of  several  years'  standing  my- 


./   FRKXCf/MAX  IX  AMERICA. 


261 


self,  I  admire  him  profcssioiirilly.  Nobody  is  edified, 
nobody  is  regenerated,  nobody  is  improved,  but  all  are 
entertained.  It  is  not  a  divine  service,  but  it  is  a 
clever  performance,  and  the  Americans  never  fail  to 
patronize  a  clever  performance.  All  styles  go  down 
with  them.     They  will  give  a  hearing  to  everybody 


THE   DESIRED    EFFECT. 


but  the  bore,  especially  on  Sundays,  when  other  forms 
of  entertainment  are  out  of  the  running. 

It  is  not  only  the  Brooklyn  public  that  are  treated 
to  the  discourses  of  Dr.  Talmage,  but  the  whole  of 
America.  He  syndicates  his  sermons,  and  they  are 
published  in  Monday's  newspapers  in  all  quarters  of 
America,  I  have  also  seen  them  reproduced  in  the 
Australian  papers. 

The  delivery  of  these  orations  by  Dr.  Talmage  is  so 
superior  to  the  matter  they  are  made  of,  that  to  read 
them  is  slow  indeed  compared  to  hearing  them. 


% 


it 


fit 


962 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


At  the  back  of  the  programme  was  a  flaring  adver- 
tisement of  Dr.  Talmage's  paper,  called : 

CHRISTIAN    HERALD    AND   SIGNS   OF   OUR   TIMES. 

A  live,  undenominational,  illustrated  Christian  paper,  with  a 
weekly  circulation  of  fifty  thousand  copies,  and  rapidly  increasing. 
Every  State  of  the  Union,  every  Province  of  Canada,  and  every 
country  in  the  world  is  represented  on  its  enormous  subscription 
list.     Address  your  subscription  to  Mr.  N.,  treasurer,  etc. 

"  Signs  of  our  times,"  indeed  ! 


I;  III 


i^M 


J 


ill 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Virginia— The  Hotels— The  South— I  will  Kill 
A  Railway  Conductor  before  I  leave  America 
—Philadelphia— Impressions  of  the  Old  City. 


Petersburg,  Va.,  March  3. 
T  LFT   New  York   last   night 


and    arrived    here    at 
noon.        No     cliange 


in    the 
----scenery. 


The  same  burnt-up  fields, 
the  sanne  placards  all  over 
the     land.      The     roofs     of 
houses,  the    trees   in    the   for- 
ests, the   fences  in  the  fields,  all 
announce  to    the  world    the  magic 
properties   of    castor    oil,   aperients, 
and   liver   pills. 

A  little  village  inn  in  the  bot- 
tom of  old  Brittany  is  a  palace  of 
comfort  compared  to  the  best 
hotel  of  a  Virginia  town.  I  feel 
wretched.  My  bedroom  is  so 
dirty  that  I  shall  not  dare  to 
undress  to-night.  I  have  just  had  lunch :  a  piece 
of   tough  dried-up  beef,  custard  pie,  and   a  glass  of 

^63 


MV   SUPPER. 


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564 


./    Fh'l:\CI/MAjV  IN  AMERICA. 


filthy  water,  the  whole  served  by  an  old  negro  on  an 
old,  ragged,  dirty  table-cloth. 

Petersburg,  which  awakes  so  many  souvenirs  of  the 
War  of  Secession,  is  a  pretty  town  scattered  with 
beautiful  villas.  It  strikes  one  as  a  provincial  town. 
To  me,  coming  from  the  busy  North,  it  looks  asleep. 
The  South  has  not  yet  recovered  from  its  disasters  of 
thirty  years  ago.  That  is  what  struck  me  most,  when, 
two  years  ago,  I  went  through  Virginia,  Carolina,  and 
Georgia. 

Now  and  then  American  eccentricity  reveals  itself. 
I  have  just  seen  a  church  built  on  the  model  of  a  Greek 
temple,  and  surmounted  with  a  pointed  spire  lately 
added.  Juct  imagine  to  yourself  Julius  Caesar  with 
his  toga  and  buskin  on,  and  having  a  chimney-top  hat 
on  his  head. 

The  streets  seemed  deserted,  dead. 

To  my  surprise,  the  Opera  House  was  crowded  to- 
night. The  audience  was  fashionable  and  appreciative, 
but  very  cool,  almost  as  cool  as  in  Connecticut  and 
Maine. 

Heaven  be  praised  !  a  gentleman  invited  me  to  have 
supper  at  a  club  after  the  lecture. 

•  «  •  •  •  a 

March  4. 
I  am  sore  all  over.  I  spent  the  night  on  the  bed, 
outside,  in  my  day  clothes,  and  am  bruised  all  over.  I 
have  pains  in  my  gums  too.  Oh,  that  piece  of  beef 
yesterday!  I  am  off  to  Philadelphia.  My  bill  at  the 
hotel  amounts  to  $1.50.  Never  did  I  pay  so  much 
through  the  nose  for  what  I  had  through  the  mouth. 


A    FRE.VL7/MAX  JX  AMEh'/CA. 


.65 


Philadelphia,  March  4. 

Befon?  I  return  to  Europe  I  will  kill  a  railway  con- 
ductor. 

From  Petersburg  to  Riclimond  I  was  the  only  occu- 
pant  of   the  parlor  car.     It  was   bitterly   cold.     The 


f» 


IMAGINE  JULIUS   CESAR   WITH  A   BIG   HAT. 


conductor  of  the  train  came  in  the  smoke-room,  and 
took  a  seat.  I  suppose  it  was  his  right,  although  I 
doubt  it,  for  he  was  not  the  conductor  attached  to  the 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


parlor  car.  He  opened  the  window.  The  cold,  icy  air 
fell  on  my  legs,  or  (to  use  a  more  proper  expression,  as  I 
am  writing  in  Philadelphia)  on  my  lower  limbs.  I  said 
nothing,  but  rose  and  closed  the  window.  The  fellow 
frowned,  rose,  and  opened  the  window  again. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said  ;  *'  I  thought  that  perhaps  you 
had  come  here  to  look  after  my  comfort.  If  you 
have  not  I  will  look  after  it  myself/'  And  I  rose  and 
closed  the  window. 

''  I  want  the  window  open,"  said  the  conductor,  and 
he  prepared  to  re-open  it,  giving  me  a  mute,  impudent 
scowl. 

I  was  fairly  roused.  Nature  has  gifted  me  with  a 
biceps  and  a  grip  of  remarkable  power.  I  seized  the 
man  by  the  collar  of  his  coat. 

"As  true  as  I  am  alive,"  I  exclaimed,  "if  you  open 
this  window,  I  will  pitch  you  out  of  it."  And  I  pre- 
pared for  war.  The  cur  sneaked  away  r.nd  made  an 
exit  compared  to  which  a  whipped  hourd's  would  be 
majestic.  • 


I  am  at  the  Bellevue,  a  delightful  hotel.  My  friend 
Wilson  Barrett  is  here,  and  I  have  come  to  spend  the 
day  with  him.  He  is  playing  every  night  to  crowded 
houses,  and  after  each  performance  he  has  to  make  a 
speech.  This  is  kis  third  visit  to  Philadelphia.  Dur- 
ing the  first  visit,  he  tells  me  that  the  audience  wanted 
a  speech  after  each  act. 

It  is  always  interesting  to  compare  notes  with  a 
friend  who  has  been  over  the  same  ground  as  yourself. 
So  I  was  eager  to  hear  Mr.  Wilson  Barrett's  impres- 
sions of  his  long  tour  in  the  States. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


267 


Several  points  we  both  agreed  perfectly  upon  at 
once;  the  charming  geniality  and  good-fellowship  of 
the  best  Americans,  the  brilliancy  and  naturalness  of 
the  ladies,  the  wonderful  intelligence  and  activity  of 
the  people,  and  the  wearing  monotony  of  life  on  the 

road. 

After  the  scene  in  the  train,  I  was  interested,  too,  to 
find  that  the  train  conductors— those  mute,  magnificent 


THE   WHIPPED   CONDUCTOR. 


•monarchs  of  the  railroad— had  awakened  in  Mr.  Barrett 
much  the  same  feeling  as  in  myself.  We  Europeans 
are  used  to  a  form  of  obedience  or,  at  least,  deference 
from  our  paid  servants,  and  the  arrogant  attitude  of 
the  American  wage-earner  first  amazes,  and  then  en- 
rages us— when  we  have  not  enough  humor,  or  good- 
humor,  to  get  some  amusement  out  it.     It  is  so  novel 


w 


\: 


268 


A   FREXCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


il.i   !■ 


m:  ■ 


to  be  tyrannized  over  by  people  whom  you  pay  to 
attend  to  your  comfort !  The  American  keeps  his 
temper  under  the  process,  for  he  is  the  best-humored 
fellow  in  the  world.  Besides,  a  small  squabble  is  no 
more  in  his  line  than  a  small  anything  else.     It  is  not 


A   BOSS. 


worth  his  while.  The  Westerner  may  pull  out  a  pistol 
and  shoot  you  if  you  annoy  him,  but  neither  he  nor 
the  Eastern  man  will  wrangle  for  mastery. 

If  such  was  not  the  case,  do  you  believe  for  a  mo- 
ment that  the  Americans  would  submit  to  the  rule  of 
the  "  Rings,"  the  "  Leaders,"  and  the  "  Bosses"? 

•  •  •  •  • 

I    like  Piiiladelphia,  with  its  magnificent    park,    its 


A    FREXCIIMAX   IX  AMERICA. 


269 


beautiful  houses  that  look  like  homes.     It  is  not  brand 
new,  like  the  rest  of  America. 

My   friend,  Mr.    J.  M.  Stoddart,    editor   of  Lippin- 
cotfs  Magazine,  has  kindly  chaperoned  me  all  the  day. 

I  visited  in  detail  the  State  House,  Independence 
Square.  These  words  evoke  sentiments  of  patriotism 
in  the  hearts  of  the  Americans.  Here  was  the  bell 
that  "  proclaimed  liberty  throughout  the  Colonies  "  so 
loudly  that  it  split.  It  was  on  the  8th  of  July,  177C, 
that  the  bell  was  rung,  as  the  public  reading  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  took  place  in  the  State 
House  on  that  day, 
and  there  were  great 
rejoicings.  John 
Adams,  writing  to 
Samuel  Chase  on  the 
9th  of  July,  said  : 
"  The  bell  rang  all 
day,  and  almost  all 
night." 

It  is  recorded  by 
one  writer  that,  on 
the  4th  of  July,  when 
the  motion  to  adopt 
the  declaration 
passed  the  majority 
of  the  Assembly,  al- 
though not  signed 
by  all  the  delegates,  the  old  bell-ringer  awaited  anxious, 
ly,  with  trembling  hope,  the  signing.  He  kept  saying : 
•'  They'll  never  do  it,  they'll  never  do  it  !  "  but  his 
eyes  expanded,  and  his  grasp  grew  firm  when  the  voice 


THE   OUJ   LIBERTY   BELL. 


270 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


H: 


;l  ■ 


of  a  blue-eyed  youth  reached  his  ears  in  shouts  of  tri- 
umph as  he  flew  up  the  stairs  of  the  tower,  shouting: 
**  Ring,  grandpa,  ring  ;  they've  signed  !  " 

What  a  day  this  old  "  Liberty  Bell  "  reminds  you 
of! 

There,  in  the  Independence  Hall,  the  delegates  were 
gathered.  Benjamin  Harrison,  the  ancestor  of  the 
present  occupier  of  the  White  House,  seized  John 
Hancock,  upon  whose  head  a  price  was  set,  in  his  arms, 
and  placing  him  in  the  presidential  chair,  said  :  "  We 
will  show  Mother  Britain  how  little  we  care  for  her,  by 
making  our  president  a  Massachusetts  man,  whom  she 
has  excluded  from  pardon  by  public  proclamation," 
and,  says  Mr.  Chauncey  M.  Depew  in  one  of  his  beauti- 
ful oration.i,  when  they  were  signing  the  Declaration, 
and  the  slender  Elbridge  Gerry  uttered  the  grim  pleas- 
antry, '*  We  must  hang  together,  or  surely  we  will  hang 
separately,"  the  portly  Harrison  responded  with  more 
daring  humor,  "  It  will  be  all  over  vvith  me  in  a  mo- 
ment, but  you  will  be 
kicking  in  the  air  half 
an  hour  after  I  am 
gone." 

The    National    Mu- 
^r:^  seum  is   the   auxiliary 
^Y  chamber  to  Independ- 
ence    Hall,   and    there 
you   find    many    most 
interesting  relics  of  Co- 
lonial and  Revolution- 
ary  days :    the   silver   inkstand  used    in    signing   the 
famous  Declaration  ;  Hancock's  chair ;  the  little  table 


THE  INKSTAND. 


A    FREML7/MAX  /X  AME/s!/C.l. 


271 


upon  which  the  document  was  signed,  and  hundreds 
of  souvenirs  piously  preserved  by  generations  of 
grateful  Americans. 

It  is  said  that  Philadelphia  lias  produced  only  two 
successful  men,  Mr.  Wanamaker,  the  great  dry-goods- 
store  man,  now  a  member  of  President  Benjamin  Har- 
rison's Cabinet,  and  Mr.  George  W.  Childs,  proprietor 
of  the  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger,  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant and  successful  newspapers  in  the  United  States. 

I  went  to  Mr.  Wanamaker's  dry-goods-store,  an  es- 
tablishment strongly  reminding  you  of  the  Paris  Jh>>i 
March/,  or  Mr.  Whiteley's  warehouses  in  London. 

By  far  the  most  interesting  visit  was  that  which  I 
paid  to  Mr.  George  W.  Childs  in  his  study  at  the  Public 
Ledger  s  o^cQ?,.  It  would  require  a  whole  volume  to 
describe  in  detail  all  the  treasures  that  Mr.  Childs  has 
accumulated  :  curios  of  all  kinds,  rare  books,  manu- 
scripts and  autQgraphs,  portraits,  china,  relics  from  the 
celebrities  of  the  world,  etc.  Mr.  Childs.  like  the 
Prussians  during  their  unwelcome  visit  to  France  in 
1870,  has  a  strong  penchant  for  clocks.  Indeed  his  col- 
lection is  the  most  remarkable  in  existence.  His  study 
is  a  beautiful  sanctiun  sanctorum  ;  it  is  also  a  museum 
that  not  only  the  richest  lover  of  art  would  be  proud  to 
possess,  but  that  any  nation  would  be  too  glad  to  ac- 
quire, if  it  could  be  acquired  ;  but  Mr.  Childs  is  a  very 
wealthy  man,  and  he  means  to  keep  it,  and,  I  under- 
stand, to  hand  it  over  to  his  successor  in  the  owner- 
ship of  the  Public  Ledger. 

Mr.  George  W.  Childs  is  a  man  of  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  short  and  plump,  with  a  most  kind  and  nmiable 


r 
1 

■;',' 

1 

,     "; 

i 

il^ 


'I 


i 


t  'i 


■  li^-ri! 


1;!    'IH 


27  2 


/^    FA'E.VC//,V.LV  AV  AMEA'ICA. 


face.  His  munificence  and  philanthropy  are  well 
known  and,  as  I  understand  his  char;^ctci,  I  believe  he 
would  not  think  much  of  my  gratitude  to  him  for  the 
kindness  he  sliowed  me  if  I  dwelt  on  them  in  these 
pages. 

*  ff  •  •  • 

Thanks  to  my  kind  friends,  every  minute  has  been 
occupied  visiting  some  interesting  place,  or  meeting 
some  interesting  people.      I  shall  lecture  here  next 


WHEN   IRELAND   IS   FREE, 


month,  and  shall  look  forward  to  the  pleasure  of  being 
in  Philadelphia  again. 

At  the  Union  League  Club  I  met  Mr.  Rufus  E. 
Shapley,  who  kindly  gave  me  a  copy  of  his  clever  and 
witty  political  satire,  "Solid  for  Mulhooly,'   illustrated 


./   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


273 


well 
/e  he 
r  the 
:hese 


been 
iting 
fiext 


E. 

id 


by  Mr.  Thomas  Nast.  I  should  advise  any  one  who 
would  understand  how  Jonathan  is  ruled  municipally, 
to  peruse  this  little  book.  It  gives  the  history  of 
Pat's  rise  from  the  Irish  cabin  in  Connaught  to  the 
City  Hall  of  the  large  American  cities. 

"  When  one  man,"  says  Mr.  Shapley, "  owns  and  dom- 
inates  four  wards  or  counties,  he  becomes  a  leader. 
Half  a  dozen  such  leaders  combined  constitute  what  is 
called  a  Ring.  When  one  leader  is  powerful  enough 
to  bring  three  or  four  such  leaders  under  his  yoke, 
he  becomes  a  Boss  ;  and  a  Boss  wields  a  power  almost 
as  absolute,  while  it  lasts,  as  that  of  the  Czar  of  Rus- 
sia or  the  King  of  Zululand." 

Extracts  from  this  book  would  not  do  it  justice.  It 
should  be  read  in  its  entirety.  I  read  it  with  all  the 
more  pleasure  that,  in  "Jonathan  and  His  Continent," 
I  ventured  to  say  :  "  The  English  are  always  wonder, 
ing  why  Americans  all  seem  to  be  in  favor  of  Home 
Rule,  and  ready  to  back  up  the  cause  with  their  dollars. 
Why  ?  I  will  tell  you.  Because  they  are  in  hopes 
that,  when  the  Irish  recover  the  possession  of  Ireland, 
they  will  all  go  home." 

A  foreigner  who  criticises  a  nation  is  happy  to  see 
his  opinions  shared  by  the  natives. 


'Hi: 


'i 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

My  Ideas  of  the  State  of  Texas— Why  I  ^VILL 
NOT  Go  THERE— The  Story  of  a  Frontier  Man. 


ht'. 


Neiv  York,  March  5. 

HAVE  had  cold  audiences  in  Maine  and  Connecti- 
cut ;  and  indifferent  ones  in  several  cities, 
while  I  have  been  warmly  received  in  many  others. 
It  seems  that,  if  I  went  to  Texas,  I  might  get  it 
hot. 

I  have  received  to-day  a  Texas  paper  containing  a 
short  editorial  marked  at  the  four  corners  in  blue  pen- 
cil. Impossible  not  to  see  it.  The  editorial  abuses 
me  from  the  first  line  to  the  last.  When  there  appears 
in  a  paper  an  article,  or  even  only  a  short  paragraph, 
abusing  you,  you  never  run  the  risk  of  not  seeing  it. 
There  always  is,  somewhere,  a  kind  friend  who  will 
post  it  to  you.  He  thinks  you  may  be  getting  a  little 
conceited,  and  he  forwards  the  article  to  you,  that  you 
may  use  it  as  wholesome  physic.  It  does  him  good, 
and  does  you  no  harm. 

The  article  in  question  begins  by  charging  me  with 
having  turned  America  and  the  Americans  into  ridicule, 
goes  on  wondering  that  the  Americans  can  receive  me 
so  well  everywhere,  and,  after  pitching  into  me  right 
and  left,  winds  up  by  warning  me  that,  if  I  should  go 

274 


,  X 


./   FA'/iXC/n/.LV  /.V  AMEh'/C.l. 


-/5 


to  Texas,  I  might  for  a  change  meet  with  a  hot  re- 
ccption. 

A  shot,  perhaps. 

A  shot  in  Texas !     No,  no,  no. 

I  won't  go  to  Texas.  I  should  strongly  object 
to    bemg    shot    anywhere,    but    especially   in    Texas, 


"A   SHOT   IN   TEXAS." 

where    the    event    would     attract    so     little     public 
attention. 


■^ 


Yet,  I  should  have  liked  to  go  to  Texas,  for  was  it 
not  from  that  State  that,  after  the  publication  of 
"Jonathan  and  His  Continent,"  I  received  the  two 
following  letters,  which  I  have  kept  among  my  treas- 
ures ? 


' 


i 


a 


h  i 


M' 


il 


iMi 


llliii 


'."jf) 


I  /A'/:.V(//.]/.i.v  /.v  .i.u/:a/<'.i. 


Dkar  Sir  : 

I  have  rr.ad  your  book  on  Atiu'rica  and  greatly  enjoyed  if. 
I'lease  to  send  me  your  auto^^raph.  I  ciu  lose  a  ten-cent  piece. 
The  postage  will  cost  you  live  cents.  Don't  trouble  about  the 
change. 

My  Dear  Sir  : 

I  have  an  album  containing  the  photographs  of  many  well- 
known  people  from  Europe  as  well  ;is  from  .America.  I  should 
much  like  to  add  yours  to  the  number.  If  you  will  send  it  to  me,  I 
will  send  you  mine  and  that  of  my  wife  in  return. 

•  •  •  .  • 

And  I  also  imagine  that  there  must  be  in  Texas  a 
delightful  primitiveness  of  manners  and  good-fellow- 
ship. 

A  friend  once  related  to  me  the  following  remi- 
niscence : 

I  arrived  one  evening  in  a  little  Texas  town,  and  asked  for  a 
bedroom  at  UiZ  hotel. 

There  was  no  bedroom  to  be  had,  but  only  a  bed  in  a  double- 
bedded  room. 

"  Will  that  suit  you  ?  "  said  the  clerk. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  I  said  hesitatingly.  "Who  is  the 
other?" 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  clerk,  "  you  may  set  your  mind  at 
rest  on  that  subject." 

"  Very  well,"  I  replied,  "  I  will  take  that  bed." 

At  about  ten  o'clock,  as  I  was  nreparing  to  go  to  bed,  my  bed- 
room companion  entered.  It  was  a  frontier  man  in  full  uniform: 
Buffalo  Bill  hat,  leather  leggings,  a  belt  accommodating  a  couple 
of  revolvers — no  baggage  of  any  kind. 

I  did  not  like  it. 

"  Hallo,  stranger,"  said  the  man,  "  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  pretty  well,"  I  replied,  without  meaning  a  word  of  it. 

The  frontier  man  undressed,  that  is  to  say.  took  off  his  boots, 
placed  the  two  revolvers  under  his  pillows  and  lay  down. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  277 

I  liked  it  less  and  less. 

Hy  and  by.  we  both  went  to  sleep.  In  the  morning  we  woke  up 
at  the  same  time,  f  k  rose,  dressed-that  is  to  say.  put  on  his 
boots,  and  wished  me  good-morning. 


MY   ROOM  MATE. 


The  hall  porter  came  with  letters  for  mv  companion,  but  none 
for  me.  I  thought  I  should  like  to  let  that  man  know  I  had  no 
money  with  me.     So  I  said  to  him  : 


?:  ■■  t 


3;  ■( 


I   I 


278 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


"  I  am  very  much  disappointed.  I  expected  some  money  from 
New  York,  and  it  has  not  come." 

"  I  hope  it  will  come,"  he  replied. 

I  did  not  like  that  hope. 

In  the  evening,  we  met  again,  He  undressed — you  know,  went 
to  sleep,  rose  early  in  the  morning,  dressed — you  know. 

The  porter  came  ag-ain  with  letters  for  him  and  none  for  me. 

"  Well,  your  money  has  not  come,"  he  said. 

"  I  see  it  has  not.  I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  be  in  a  fix  what  to 
do." 

"  I'm  going  away  this  morning." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  I  said.    "  I'm  sorry  to  part  with  you." 

The  frontier  man  took  a  little  piece  of  paper  and  wrote  some- 
thing on  it. 

"  Take  this,  my  friend,"  he  said ;  "  it  may  be  useful  to  you." 

It  was  a  check  for  a  hundred  dollars. 

I  could  have  gone  down  on  my  knees,  as  I  refused  the  check 
and  asked  that  man's  pardon. 


I  lectured  in  Brooklyn  to-night,  and  am  off  to  the 
West  to-morrow  morning. 


'  i'  ;:ni 
si 


I 


1;     . 

,»iA 

i  mBj^^Bk' 

'       -    1 

:  4HS^B  1 

H 

mI 

■^ 

''1 

I  1 

s 

:  ■ 

5  ^ 

^^B 

1 

1  { 

m 

i 

\     w 

CHAPTER   XXXIir. 

^M^l^^'r"""^"^  Town-The  Suburbs-A  Ger 
MAN   City-'.  Over  the    Rhine  "-What   is  ." 
Good   Patriot  ?_An   Impressive   Funeral    X 
Hor,T  'f  ~"°^^  '"  ^"^'^^■'^'^  to  Me!  a'^d 


M  Cincinnati,  March  7. 

Y  arnval  in  Cincinnati  this  morning  was  any. 
thing  but  triumphal.  ^ 

On  leaving  the  car,  I  gave  my  check  to  a  cab-driver 

froJ^    ■;    1  ''  '"""'"  °"'=' ''"''  °"  being  thrown 

from    he  baggage-van  on  the  platform,  it  burst  open 

and  all  my  things  were  scattered  about      In  England 

or  m   France,  half  a  dozen  porters  would  have  im 

mediately  come  to  the  rescue,  but  here   the   porter 

■s  practically  unknown.    Three  or  four  men  b  longing 

to    the  company  gathered    round,    but,   neither   ou! 

ttem  off      h"'"  ""  '■"  '"^  "^"P^  °'  g-'n"d  a  .y  : 
them  offer  h,s  services.     They  looked  on,  laughed  and 

to  whether  I  should  succeed  in   putting   my  thincrs 
together  or  not.     Th.nks  to  a  leather  stfap  I  had  fn 

7.wh    ""T^^^  '°  "■"'  "'^  portmanteau  and  have 
.t  placed  on  the  cab  that  drove  to  the  Burnet  House 


« 


II 


379 


I'     I 

I 


280 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


M  \ 


Immediately  after  registering  my  name,  I  went  to 
buy  an  American  trunk,  that  is  to  say,  an  iron-bound 
trunk,  to  place  my  things  in  safety.  I  have  been  told 
that  trunk  makers  give  a  commission  to  the  railway 
and  transfer  baggagemen  who,  having  broken  trunks, 
recommend  their  owners  to  go  to  such  and  such  a 


(' 


MY    BROKEN   VALISE. 


place  to  buy  new  ones.  This  goes  a  long  way  toward 
explaining  the  way  in  which  baggage  is  treated  in 
America. 

On  arriving  in  tliCdining-room,  I  was  surprised  to 
see  the  glasses  of  all  the  guests  filled  with  lemonade. 
'*  Why,"  thought  I,  "  here  is  actually  an  hotel  which 
is  not  like  all  the  other  hotels."  The  lemonade  turned 
out  to  be  water  from  the  Ohio  River.    I  could  not  help 


A   I'RENCintAii  AV  AMEIilCA.  281 

feeling  grateful  for  a  change;  any  change,  even  that 

a    Zfl  f  ''-'";    ^">"'°"^   "■'-  •>-   '-vele^ 
ren,rri'  '"        '""''"     "'"     '^PP'-^^^t.     the 

Cincinnati  is  built  at  the  bottom  of  a  funnel  from 
wh.ch  r,se  hundreds  of   chimneys   vomiting  fire  and 

i.ke  a  huge  furnace,  and  so  it  is,  a  furnace  of  industry 

and  activity.     It  reminded  me  of  Glasgow.  ^ 

If  the  cty  itself  is  anything  but  attractive,  the  resi- 

dent-al  parts  are  perfectly  lovely.     I  have  seei,  nothing 

the  bordenng  heights  of  the  town,  .scattered  with 
beautiful  villas,  and  itself  a  mixture  of  a  wilderness 
and  a  ovely  park.  A  hind  friend  drove  me  for  t  Iree 
hours  through  the  entire  neighborhood,  giving  me  in 
American  fashion,  the  history  of  the  ^wner  of  elch 
residence  we  passed.  Here  was  the  house  of  Mr  A 
or  rather  Mr.  A.  B.  C,  every  American  having  tiit' 

out  a  dolla..     Five  years   later  he   had   five  millions 
He  speculated  and  lost  all,  went  to  Chicago  and  made 

several  millions,  and  so  on.     This  is  common  enough  in 
America      By  and  by,  we  passed  the  most  beautifd   of 
ah  the  villas  of  Burnet  Wood-the  house  of  the  Oi 
King    Mr.  Alexander  Macdonald,  one  of  those  won 

bi:^  Vtr"';",  ""•■  ^^'^^  "^  ^^"-^  ■-"--- 

Doast  all  the  world  over.     AinenVa   liic    k^ 

fi^M   r       .Li       ,.  -f^incrica  Jias    been  a    great 

fieM  for  the  display   of  Scotch    intelligence   anl  i„! 

After  visiting  the  pretty  museum  at  Eden  Park,  a 


.3;,' 


282 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


(  ;  W<\> 


^  <l  \\ 


h 


museum  organized  in  1880  in  consequence  of  Mr. 
Charles  W.  West's  offer  to  give  $I50,CXX)  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  already  in  possession  of  very  good  works  of 
art  and  many  valuable  treasures,  we  returned  to  the 
city  and  stopped  at  the  Public  Library.  Over  200,000 
volumes,  representing  all  the  branches  of  science  and 
literature,  are  there,  as  well  as  a  collection  of  all  the 
newspapers  of  the  world,  placed  in  chronological  order 
on  the  shelves  and  neatly  bound.  I  believe  that  this 
collection  of  newspapers  and  that  of  Washington  are 
the  two  best  known.  In  the  public  reading-room, 
hundreds  of  people  are  running  over  the  newspapers 
from  Europe  and  all  the  principal  cities  of  the  United 
States.  My  best  thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Whelpley,  the 
librarian,  for  his  kindness  in  conducting  me  all  over 
this  interesting  place.  Upstairs  I  was  shown  the 
room  where  the  members  of  the  Council  of  Education 
hold  their  sittings.  The  room  was  all  topsy-turvey. 
Twenty-six  desks  and  twenty-six  chairs  was  about  all 
the  furniture  of  the  room.  In  a  corner,  piled  up  to- 
gether, were  the  cuspidores.  I  counted.  Twenty-six. 
Right. 

After  thanking  my  kind  pilot,  I  returned  to  the 
Burnet  House  to  read  the  evening  papers.  I  read  that 
the  next  day  I  was  to  breakfast  with  Mr.  A.,  lunch 
with  Mr.  B.,  and  dine  with  Mr.  C.  The  mefiii  was  not 
published.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  this  piece  of 
intelligence  is  quite  interesting  to  the  readers  of  Cin- 
cinnati. 

My  evening  being  free,  I  looked  at  the  column  of 
amusements.  The  first  did  not  tempt  me,  it  was 
this: 


{]• 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


283 


THE  KING  OF  THE  SWAMPS. 

The  Only  and  the  Original. 

English  Jack. 

the  inc;-      tehensible  frog  man. 

He  makes  a  frog  pond  oi  his  stomach  by  eating  living  frogs.     An 

appetite  created  by  hfe  in  the  swamps.     He  is  so  fond  of  this  sort 


THE  KING   OF  THE  SWAMPS. 


of  food  that  he  takes  the  pretty  creatures  by  the  hind  legs,  and  be- 
fore they  can  say  their  prayers  they  are  inside  out  of  the  cold. 

The  next  advertisement  was  that  of  a  variety  show, 
that  most  stupid  form  of  entertainment  so  popular  in 
America ;  the  next  was  the  announcement  of  pugilists, 
and  another  one  that  of  a  "  most  sensational  drama,  in 
which  *  one  of  the  most  emotional  actresses'  in 
America  "  was  to  appear,  supported  by  "  one  of  the 
most  powerful  casts  ever  gathered  together  in  the 
world." 


tr   f 


JinM 


«. 


III! 


!il 


I     '■'' 


If:' 


If' 

■I   I 


284 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


The  superlatives,  in  American  advertisements,  have 
long  ceased  to  have  the  slightest  effect  upon  me. 

The  advertisement  of  another  "show  "  ran  thus:  I 
beg  to  reproduce  it  in  its  entirety  ;  indeed  it  would  be 
a  sacrilege  to  meddle  with  it. 

TO  THE  PUBLIC. 
My  Friends  and  Former  Patrons:  I  have  now  been  before 
the  public  for  the  past  seventeen  years,  and  am  perhaps  too  well 
known  to  require  further  evidence  of  my  character  and  integrity 
than  my  past  life  and  record  will  show.  Fifteen  years  ago  I  in- 
augurated the  system  of  dispensing  presents  to  the  public,  believ- 
ing that  a  fair  share  of  my  profits  could  thus  honestly  be  returned 
to  my  patrons.  At  the  outset,  and  ever  since,  it  has  been  my  aim 
to  deal  honestly  toward  the  multitude  who  have  given  me  patron- 
age. Since  that  time  many  imitators  have  undertaken  to  beguile 
the  public,  with  but  varying  success.  Many  unprincipled  rascals 
have  also  appeared  upon  the  scene,  men  without  talent,  but  far- 
reaching  talons,  who  by  specious  promises  have  sought  to  swindle 
all  whom  they  could  inveigle.  This  class  of  scoundrels  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  make  promises  tl  at  they  cannot  and  never  intend  to  fulfill, 
and  should  be  frowned  down  by  all  honest  men.  They  deceive  the 
public,  leave  a  bad  impression,  and  thus  injure  legitimate  exhibi- 
tions. Every  promise  I  make  will  be  faithfully  fulfilled,  as  ex- 
perience has  clearly  proven  that  dealing  uprightly  with  the  public 
brings  its  sure  reward.  All  who  visit  my  beautiful  entertainment 
may  rely  upon  the  same  fair  dealing  which  has  been  my  life-long 
policy,  and  which  has  always  honored  me  with  crowded  houses. 


NFAV  UNIQUE   PASTIMES. 

NEW  COSTLY   WONDERS. 

NEW  PLEASANT   STUDIES. 

NEW  POPULAR   MUSIC. 


NEW   HARMLESS   MIRTH. 
NEW    FAMOUS   ARTISTS. 
NEW   INNOCENT   FUN. 
NEW    KNOWLEDGE. 


Special  Notice. 

Ladies  and  Children  are  especially  Invited  to  Attend  this  Enter- 
tainment. We  Guarantee  it  to  be  Chaste,  Pure,  and  as  Whole- 
some and  Innocent  as  it  is  Amusing  and  Laughable. 


l\ 


A    FRENCHMAN  W  AMF.RICA. 


aSj 


Finally  I  decided  on  going  to  see  a  German  tragedy 
Ijijdnot  understand  it,  but  the  acting  seemed  TL 


ig  seemed  to  me 


Like  Milwaukee,  Cincinnati  possesses  a  ver^.  strong 
German  element.     Indeed  a  whole  part  of  the  cUy  if 


A   GERMAN   TKAGEDY. 

ont^j",'"';lf  '^'  ''""'"'  population,  and  situated 
.n  ,t  d  .  .  '"'  ""'^'■-  ^''^"  y«"  "°^^  the  bridge 
usetL  '°"'^"'"  '"  g°'"g"°ver  the  Phine,"fo 

an  ev^n  '  ^^P^"^'-'-  "  To  go  over  the  Rhme  "  of 
an  evening  means  to  go  to  one  of  the  many  German 


:     5 


''Ml 


* 


286 


A   FREXCIIMAN  LY    I M ERICA. 


Brauerei,  and  have  sausages  and  Bavarian  beer  for 
supper. 

The  town  is  a  very  prosperous  one.  The  Germans 
in  America  are  liked  for  their  steadiness  and  industry. 
An  American  friend  even  told  me  that  the  Germans 
were  perhaps  the  best  patriots  the  United  States  could 
boast  of. 

Patriots  !  The  word  sounded  strangely  to  my  ears. 
I  may  be  prejudiced,  but  I  call  a  good  patriot  a  man 
who  loves  his  own  mother  country.  You  may  like  the 
land  of  your  adoption,  but  you  love  the  land  of  your 
birth.  Good  patriots  !  I  call  a  good  brother  a  man 
who  loves  his  sister,  not  other  people's  sisters. 

The  Germans  apply  for  their  naturalization  papers 
the  day  after  they  have  landed.  I  should  admire  their 
patriotism  much  more  if  they  waited  a  little  longer  be- 
fore they  changed  their  own  mother  for  a  step-mother. 

•  «  •  •  • 

March  8. 

I  witnessed  a  most  impressive  ceremony  this  morn- 
ing, the  funeral  of  the  American  Minister  Plenipoten- 
tiary to  the  Court  of  Berlin,  whose  body  was  brought 
from  Germany  to  his  native  place  a  few  days  ago.  No 
soldiers  ordered  to  accompany  the  cortege,  no  uniforms, 
but  thousands  of  people  voluntarily  doing  honor  to 
the  remains  of  a  talented  and  respected  fellow-citizen 
and  townsman  :  a  truly  republican  ceremony  in  its  sim- 
plicity and  earnestness. 

The  coffin  was  taken  to  the  Music  Hall,  a  new  and 
beautiful  building  capable  of  accommodating  thou- 
sands of  people,  and  placed  on  the  platform  amid  ever- 
greens and  the  Stars  and  Stripes.     In  a  few  minutes, 


ind 

rer- 
tes, 


i 


••/    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


287 


the  hall,  decorated  with  taste  but  vvitli.  appropriate 
simplicity,  was  packed  from  floor  to  ceiling.  Some 
notables  and  friends  of  the  late  Minister  sat  on  the 
platform  around  the  coffin,  and  the  mayor,  in  the  name 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  delivered  a  speech,  a 
eulogistic  funeral  oration,  on  the  deceased  diplomatist. 
All  parties  were  represented  in  the  hall.  Republicans 
and  Democrats  ilike  had  come.  America  admits  no 
party  feeling,  no  recollection  of  political  differences,  to 
intrude  upon  the  homage  she  gratefully  renders  to  the 
memory  of  her  illustrious  dead. 

The  mayor's  speech,  listened  to  by  the  crowd  in  re- 
spectful silence,  was  much  like  all  the  speeches  deliv- 
ered on  such  occasions,  including  the  indispensable 
sentence  that  "  he  knew  he  could  safely  affirm  that  the 
deceased  had  never  made  any  enemies."  When  I  hear 
a  man  spoken  of,  after  his  death,  as  never  having 
made  any  enemies,  as  a  Christian  I  admire  him,  but  I 
also  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  have  been  a 
very  insignificant  member  of  the  community.  But  the 
phrase,  I  should  remember,  is  a  mere  piece  of  flattery 
to  the  dead,  in  a  country  where  death  puts  a  stop  to 
all  enmity,  political  enmity  especially.  The  same 
would  be  done  in  England,  and  almost  everywhere. 
Not  in  France,  however,  where  the  dead  continue  to 
have  implacable  enemies  for  many  years  after  they  have 
left  the  lists. 

«  •  •  •  • 

The  afternoon  was  pleasantly  spent  visiting  the 
town  hall  and  the  remarkable  china  manufactories, 
which  turn  out  very  pretty,  quaint,  and  artistic  pot^ 
tery.     The  evening  brought  to  the  Od^on  a  fashion- 


li 


288 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AM E  NIC  A. 


able  and  most  cultivated  audience.  1  am  invited  to 
pay  a  return  visit  to  this  city.  I  shall  look  forward  to 
the  pleasure  of  lecturing  here  again  in  April. 

•  t  t  «  • 

Maych  9. 

Spent  a  most  agreeable  Sunday  in  the  hospitable 
house  of  M.  Fredin,  the  French  consular  agent,  and 
his  amiable  and  talented  wife.  M.  Fredin  was  kind 
enough  to  call  yesterday  at  the  Burnet  House. 

As  a  rule,  I  never  call  on  the  representatives  of 
France  in  my  travels  abroad.  If  I  traveled  as  a  tour- 
ist, I  would  ;  but  traveling  as  a  lecturer,  I  should  be 
afraid  lest  the  object  of  my  visits  might  be  miscon- 
strued, and  taken  as  a  gentle  hint  to  patronize  me. 

One  day  I  had  a  good  laugh  with  a  French  consul, 
in  an  English  town  where  I  came  to  lecture.  On  ar- 
riving at  the  hall  I  found  a  letter  from  this  diplomatic 
compatriot,  in  which  he  expressed  his  surprise  that  I 
had  not  apprised  him  of  my  arrival.  The  next  morn- 
ing, before  leaving  the  town,  I  called  on  him.  He 
welcomed  me  most  gracefully. 

"  Why  did  you  not  let  me,  your  consul,  know  that 
you  were  coming?  "  he  said  to  me. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  le  Consul,"  I  replied,  "  suppose  I 
wrote  to  you  :  '  Monsieur  le  Consul,  I  shall  arrive  at 
N.  on  Friday,'  and  suppose,  now,  just  suppose,  that 
you  answered  me, 'Sir,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  will 
arrive  here  on  Friday,  but  what  on  earth  is  that  to 
me?"' 

He  saw  the  point  at  once.  A  Frenchman  always 
does. 


A    FREXCHMAX  /X  ^\M ERICA. 


289 


March  10. 
I  like  this  land  of  conjuring.     This  morning  I  took 
the  street  car  to  go  on  the  Burnet  Hills.     At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  the  car — horses,  and  all — enters  a  little  house. 
The  house  climbs  the  hill  vertically  by  means  of  cables. 
Arrived  at  the  top  of  the  mountain,  the  car  comes  out 
of  the  little  house  and  goes  on  its  way,  just  as  if  abso- 
lutely nothing  had  happened.     To  return  to  town,  I 
went  down  the  hill  in 
the  same   fashion. 
But  if  the  cable  should 
break,    you    will    ex- 
claim,   where     would 
you    be  ?     Ah,    there 
you    are  !       It     does 
not    break.      It     did 
once,  so  now  they  see 
that  it  does  not  again. 
In   the   evening 
there  was  nothing  to 
see  except  variety 
shows   and   wrestlers. 
There    was  a    .ariety 
show  which   tempted 
me,    the    Hermann's    Vaudevilles.      I     saw    on    the 
list  of  attractions  the  name  of  my  friend   and   com- 
patriot,    F.     Trewey,    the     famous     shadowgraphist, 
and   I   concluded   that    if   the  other  artistes  were  as 
good  in  their  lines  as  he  is  in  his,  it  would  be  well 
worth  seeing.     The  show  was  very  good   of  its  kind, 
and   Trewey  was  admirable  ;  but  the   audience  were 
not  refined,  and  it  was  not  his  most  subtle  and  artis- 


A   VARIETY    ACTOR. 


II 


I: 
!  ,1 


I.  ' 

,  t 


:(  ■ 


11- 


I 


I 


5. 


^: 

i 

1 

,'  •  1 

i  ■  j  ( 

*!■ 

290 


A    IRENCIIMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


tic  tricks  that  they  ai)plautlcd  most,  but  the  broader 
and  more  striking  ones.  After  the  show  lie  and  I 
went  "over  the  Riiine."     You   know  what  it  means. 


March  1 1 ,  9  ^t.  m. 

For  a  long  time  I  had  wished  to  see  the  wonderful 
American  fire  brigades  at  work.  The  wish  has  now 
been  satisfied. 

At  half-past  one  this  morning  I  was  roused  in  my 
bed  by  the  galloping  of  horses  and  the  shouts  of  people 
in  the  street.  Huge  tongues  of  fire  were  licking  my 
window,  and  the  heat  in  the  room  was  intense.  In- 
deed, all  around  me  seemed  to  be  in  a  blaze,  and  I 
took  it  for  granted  that  the  Burnet  House  was  on  fire. 
I  rose  and  dressed  quickly,  put  together  the  few  val- 
uables that  were  in  my  possession,  and  prepared  to 
make  for  the  street.  I  soon  saw,  however,  that  it 
was  a  block  of  houses  opposite  that  was  on  fire,  or 
rather  the  corner  house  of  that  block. 

The  guests  of  the  hotel  were  in  the  corridors  ready 
for  any  emergency.  Had  there  been  any  wind  in  our 
direction,  the  hotel  was  doomed.  The  night  was  calm 
and  wet.  As  soon  as  we  became  aware  that  no  lives 
were  lost  or  in  danger  in  the  burning  building,  and 
that  it  would  only  be  a  question  of  insurance  money 
to  be  paid  by  some  companies,  we  betook  ourselves  to 
admire  the  magnificent  sight.  For  it  was  a  magnifi- 
cent sight,  this  whole  large  building,  the  prey  of 
flames  coming  in  torrents  out  of  every  window,  the 
dogged  perseverance  of  the  firemen  streaming  floods 
of  water  over  the  roof  and   through  the  windows,  the 


//   f/^EAXI/MAN  IN  AMERICA, 


291 


salvage  corps  men  penetrating  through  the  flames 
into  the  building  in  the  hope  of  receiving  the  next  clay 
a  commission  on  all  the  goods  and  valuables  saved. 
A  fierce  battle  it  was  between  a  brute  element  and 
man.     By  three  o'clock  the  element  was  conquered, 


A  FIRE   YARN. 


but  only  the  four  walls  of  the  building  remained,  which 
proved  to  me  that,  with  all  their  wonderful  promp- 
titude  and  gallantry,  all  firemen  can  do  when  flames 
have  got  firm  hold  on  a  building  is  to  save  the  adjoin- 
ing property. 

I  listened  to  the  different  groups  of  people  in  the 


(?t 


J ' 


I  1 


292 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


If  ■' 


!r    '3 


jf    :; 


If 'J 


Ir     I. 


It'  ■*  ii 


l:* 


: 


It       . 


hotel.  Some  gave  advice  as  to  how  the  firemen  should 
set  about  their  work,  or  criticised.  Others  related  the 
big  fires  they  had  witnessed,  a  few  indulging  in  the 


AS   WE   SAW   IT. 


recital  of  the  exploits  they  performed  thereat.  There 
are  a  good  many  Gascons  among  the  Americans.  At 
four  o'clock  all  danger  was  over,  and  we  all  retired. 

*  •  •  •  • 

I  was  longing  to  read  the  descriptions  of  the  fire  in 


I< 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


293 


this  morning  s  papers.     I  have  now  read  them  and  am 
not  at  all  disappointed.     On   the  contrary,  they  are 


/ 
f 


/' 


'/\\ 


]<^ 


beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations.  Wonderful  • 
s.mply  perfectly  wonderful!  lam  now  trying  to' 
persuade  myself  that  I  really  saw  all  that  the  reporters 


H  jO 


lis 


294 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


saw,  and  that  I  really  ran  great  danger  last  night. 
For,  "  at  every  turn,"  it  appears,  "  the  noble  hotel 
seemed  as  if  it  must  become  the  prey  of  the  fierce 
element,   and   could   only   be    saved   by  a   miracle." 


IIk  ^f  1^ 


f  il'i 


n 


THE   FIREMAN. 


Columns  and  columns  of  details  most  graphically 
given,  sensational,  blood-curdling.  But  all  that  is 
nothing.  You  should  read  about  the  panic,  and  the 
scenes  of  wild  confusion  in  the  Burnet  House,  when 
all  the  good  folks,  who  had  all  dressed  and  were  look- 


til 


A    FRENCmiAA'  I.V  AMERICA.  295 

is' So'/  ""  !"  '"'"  ""  "'■"''°--  •>-  described 

their  n?h./'^'°''""^"P"'^=  women  disheveled   in 

e  ■  es  i'^  I   "■""'  '•"""'■"S  >"'d'  -d  throwing  LZ 

I    e  i"'  1"""°'  ""-T  '"^^^"^  P-tection,^ar,d  a^I 
shr  ek.ng  and  panic-stricken.     Such  a  scene  of  con 
fusion  and  terror  ,ou  can  hardly  imagine.    Vonr 


!    ; 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  Journey  if  you  Like — Terrible  Encounter 
WITH  AN  American  Interviewer. 


im  :l 


In  the  train  to  Brushville,  March  1 1 . 

LEFT  Cincinnati  this  morning  at  ten  o'clock  and 
■^  shall  not  arrive  at  Brushville  before  seven  o'clock 
to-night.  I  am  beginning  to  learn  how  to  speak 
American.  As  I  asked  for  my  ticket  this  morning  at 
the  railroad  ofifice,  the  clerk  said  to  me : 

"  C.  H.  D.  or  C.  C.  C.  St.  L.  and  St.  P.  ?  " 

"  C.  H.  D.,"  I  replied,  with  perfect  assurance. 

I  happened  to  hit  on  the  right  line  for  Brushville. 

By  this  time  I  know  pretty  well  all  those  combina- 
tions of  the  alphabet  by  which  the  different  railroad 
lines  of  America  are  designated. 

No  hope  of  comfort  or  of  a  dinner  to-day.  I  shall 
have  to  change  trains  three  times,  but  none  of  them,  I 
am  grieved  to  hear,  have  parlor  cars  or  dining  cars. 
There  is  si  mething  democratic  about  uniform  cars  for 
all  alike.  I  am  a  democrat  myself,  yet  I  have  a  weak- 
ness for  the  parlor  cars — and  the  dining  cars. 

At  noon  we  stopped  five  minutes  at  a  place  which, 
two  years  ago,  counted  six  wooden  huts.  To-day  it 
has  more  than  5000  inhabitants,  the  electric  light  in 
the  streets,  a  public  library,  two  hotels,  four  churches, 

296 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  297 

two  banks,  a  public  school,  a  high  school,  cuspidores 
toothp.cks,  and  all  the  signs  of  American  dvilization 

1  ^hanged  trains  at  one  o'clock  at  Castle  Gree-i 
Junction  No  hotel  in  the  place.  I  inquired  where 
food  could  be  obtained.     A  little  wooden  hut,  on  the 

Lunch  Room,  was  pointed  out  to  me.  Lunch  in 
America  has  not  the  meaning  that  it  has  in  England 
as  I  often  experienced  to  my  despair.  The  English 
are  sohd  people  In  England  lunck  means  something 
In  America,  ,t  does  not.  However,  as  there  was  no 
Be^vare  written  outside,  I  entered  the  place.  Several 
people  were  eat-  -^^vcrai 

ing  pies,  fruit 
pies,  pies  with 
crust  under,  and 
crust  over: 
sealed  mys- 
teries. 

"I  want  some- 
thing to  eat," 
I  said  to  a  man 
behind  the 
counter,  who 
was    in    posses- 


PEACH    POY   AND   APPLE   POY.' 


What   d  ye  lo.ke?"  replied  he,  winking  with  the 
eye  that  was  not  there. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  got  ?  " 

"Peach   poy,  apricot   poy,  apple   poy,    and    mince 
poy. 

*'  Is  that  all  ?  " 


5  I . 


:  If 


n 


298 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


"  And,  shure,  what  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

I  have  always  suspected  something  mysterious  about 
mince  pies.  At  home,  I  eat  mince  pies.  I  also 
trust  my  friends'  cooks.  Outside,  I  pass.  I  think 
that  mince  pies  and  sausages  should  be  made  at  home. 

"  I  like  a  little  variety,"  I  said  to  the  Irishman, 
"  give  me  a  small  slice  of  apple  pie,  one  of  apricot  pie, 
and  another  of  peach  pie." 

The  Irishman  stared  at  me. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  mince  poy?"  he 
seemed  to  say. 

I  could  see  from  his  eye  that  he  resented  the  insult 
offered  to  his  mince  pies. 

I  ate  my  pies  and  returned  on  the  platform.  I  was 
told  that  the  train  was  two  hours  behind  time,  and  I 
should  be  too  late  to  catch  the  last  Brushville  train  at 
the  next  change. 

I  walked  and  smoked. 

The  three  pies  began  to  get  acquainted  with  each 
other. 


!  i5  T  18 'f 


M 


Brushville,  March  12. 

Oh,  those  pies ! 

At  the  last  change  yesterday,  I  arrived  too  late. 
The  last  Brushville  train  was  gone. 

The  pies  were  there, 

A  fortune  I  would  have  given  for  a  dinner  and  a  bed, 
which  now  seemed  more  problematic  than  ever. 

I  went  to  the  station-master. 

"  Can  I  have  a  special  train  to  take  me  to  Brushville 
to-night  ?" 

"A  hundred  dollars." 


^    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


299 


"  How  much  for  a  locomotive  alone  ?  " 
"Sixty  dollars." 

;;  Have  you  a  freight  train  going  to  Brushville  ?  " 

What  will  you  do  with  it?" 
"  Board  it." 

"Board  it!     I  can't  stop  the  train." 

"  I'll  take  my  chance." 

"  Your  life  is  insured  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  for  a  great  deal  more  than  it  is  worth." 

dollaTs.'^  "'"'"  """  "^''   "  ''^   '''  y-  ^°  ''  ^-  five 
And  he  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  enjoy  the  fun. 
The    freight    train    arrived,    slackened    speed,  and    I 
boarded,  with  my  port- 
manteau and  my  um- 
brella,   a    car    loaded 
with  timber.    I  placed 
my   handbag    on   the 
timber  --  you     know, 
the  one   I   had    when 
traveling     in      "the 
neighborhood  of  Chi- 
cago "~  s  a  t   on  it, 
opened  my  umbrella, 
and  waved  a   '♦  tata  " 
to  the  station-master. 
It  was  raining  fast, 
and  I  had  a  journey  of  some  thirty  miles  to  make 
at  the  rate  of  about  twelve  miles  an  hour 

to  fi\!^-r^  ^^''  I    ^^'^^  "°^  ^^^^^^  ^^  have  resolved 
to  fight  It  out.     Sacrebleu!     De  bleu!  de  bleu  f 

A  few  miles  from  Brushville  I  had  to  get  out  or 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   BRUSHVILLE. 


,;:i 


faam 


M 


300 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


i.    r 


rather,  get  down,  and  take  a  ticket  for  Brushville  on 
board  a  local  train. 

Benumbed  with  cold,  wet  through,  and  famished,  I 
arrived  here  at  ten  o'clock  last  night.  The  peach  pie, 
the  apple  pie,  and  the  apricot  pie  had  settled  their  dif- 
ferences and  become  on  friendly  and  accommodating 
terms. 

I  was  able,  on  arriving  at  the  hotel,  to  enjoy  some 
light  refreshments,  which  I  only  obtained,  at  that  time 
of  night,  thanks  to  the  manager,  whom  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  personally. 

At  eleven  o'clock  I  went  to  bed,  or,  to  use  a  more 
proper  expression  for  my  Philadelphia  readers,  I 
retired. 

I  had  been  **  retiring  "  for  about  half  an  hour,  when 
I  heard  a  knock  at  the  door. 

**  Who's  there  ?  "  I  grumbled  fiom  under  the  bed- 
clothes. 

"A  representative  of  the  Brushville  Express." 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  1  ai.i  very  sorry — but  I'm  asleep." 

"  Please  let  me  in ;  I  won't  detain  you  very  long." 

"  I  guess  you  won't.  Now,  please  do  not  insist.  I 
am  tired,  upset,  ill,  and  I  want  rest.  Come  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  No,  I  can't  do  that,"  answered  the  voice  behind 
the  door  ;  **  my  paper  appears  in  the  morning,  and  I 
want  to  put  in  something  about  you." 

"  Now,  do  go  away,"  I  pleaded,  "  there's  a  good 
fellow." 

"  I  must  see  you,"  insisted  the  voice. 

"  You  go  !  "  I  cried-  "you  go "  without  men- 
tioning any  place. 


■■I  FKF.NCmiA.V  IN  A.VI-K/C.l.  301 

For  a  couple  of  minutes  there  was  silence,  and  I 

w°eet  ',      'V""-'"?^"  »■-  g-'o.     The  illusion  wa 
sweet  but  short.     There  was  another  knock,  followed 
by  a    I  really  must  see  you  to-night."      Se.-ing  that 
there  would   be   no  peace  until  I  had  let  the  reporter 


THE    INTERVIEWER. 

in,  I  unbolted  the  door,  and  jumped   back  into  my- 
you  know.  ' 

It  was  pitch  dark. 
^  The  door  opened,  and  I  heard  the  interviewer's  steps 
in  the  room.  By  and  by,  the  sound  of  a  pocket  bein^ 
searclied  was  distinct.  It  was  his  own.  A  match  was 
pulled  out  and  struck;  the  premises  examined  and 
reconnoitered. 

A  chandelier  with  three  lights  hung  in  the  middle  of 

he    room.     The    reporter,    speechless    and    solemn, 

lighted  one  burner,  then  two,  then  three,  chose  the 


im 


302 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


'A 


!• 


If ' ' 
f;  \- 


u 


!';'J 


li 


\  ff    ''■ 

■  %{  . 

\  ' 

■  1;  T 

1'  i  f 

'  f   '1 

: 

iji, 

\ 

IL 

L'  ■ ' ' 

most  comfortable  seat,  and  Installed  himself  in  it, 
looking  at  me  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

I  was  sitting  up,  wild  and  desheveled,  in  my  "  retir- 
ing "  clothes. 

"  Qnc  vonlcz-vousf  I  wanted  to  yell,  my  state 
of  drowsiness  allowing  me  to  think  only  in  French. 

Instead  of  translating  this  query  by  "What  do  you 
v/ant?"  as  I  should  have  done,  if  I  had  been  in  the 
complete  enjoyment  of  my  intellectual  faculties,  I 
shouted  to  him  : 

"What  will  you  have?" 

"Oh,  thanks,  I'm  not  particular,"  he  calmly  replied. 
"I'll  have  a  little  whisky  and  soda — rye  whisky, 
please." 

My  face  must  have  been  a  study  as  I  rang  for 
whisky  and  soda. 

The  mixture  was  brought — for  two. 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  objection  to  my  smoking?" 
coolly  said  the  man  in  the  room. 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  remarked  ;  "  this  is  perfectly  lovely ; 
I  enjoy  it  all." 

He  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and  his  pencil,  crossed 
his  legs,  and  having  drawn  a  long  whiff  from  his  cigar, 
he  said  : 

"  I  see  that  you  have  no  lecture  to  deliver  in  Brush- 
ville ;  may  I  ask  you  what  you  have  come  here  for?" 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  what  the  deuce  is  that  to  you  ?    If 

this  is  the  kind  of  questions  you  have  to  ask  me,  you 

>» 
go 

He  pocketed  the  rebuff,  and  went  on  undisturbed : 

"  How  are  you  struck  with  Brushville  ?  " 

"  I  am  struck,"  said  I,  "  with  the  cheek  of  some  of 


;ii 


^  PKHNCHM.-tN  1.V  AMERICA.  303 

the   inhabitants.      I  have  driven  to   this  hotel   from 

:f;orc;;;..:'"°^^''""'='^--^''---noth-;^ 

The  man  wrote  down  something. 

''I  lecture  to-morrow  night,"  I  continued,  -  before 
tlie  students  of  the  State  University  and  T  \L 
liere  for  rest."  «^"«versity,  and  I  have  come 

He  took  tliis  down, 
night."  ""'•  """■  """'  ''^^^'y  ""interesting;  so,  good. 
And  I  disappeared. 

Tlie  interviewer  rose  and  came  to  my  side. 
Really,  now  that  I  am  here,  you  may  as  well  let 
me  have  a  chat  with  you." 

"  You  wretch !  "  I  exclaimed.     "  Don't  you  see  that 
I  am  dy,ng  for  sleep?    Is  there  nothing  sacred    o 
you.?     Have  you  lost  all  sense  of  charity?     Have  you 
no  mother  ?    Don't  you  believe  in  futuri  punishment" 
Are  you  a  man  or  a  demon  >  "  ' 

cel'omeToar-'  ""iT""'  '"""^  °'  ^""^  ^^""•"iscen- 
ces  of  the  road,    said  the  man,  with  a  sardonic  grin 

I   made  no  reply.     The  imperturbable  reporter 're 
sumed  his  seat  and  smoked  '^ 

bla'ntts.'"    '°"''"    '    "^''"''    f™-    -d"    the 

The  answer  came  in  the  following  words  • 
_^^a_understand,  sir,   that  when  you  we;e  a  young 

^■'When   I  was  WHAT?"    I  shouted,  sitting  up  once 

"  I   understand,   sir,   that  when   you   were  ouit,  , 
young  man,"  repeated  the  interviewer,  with  tCsen! 


liJ 


'!' 


it 


'I'  ''J    I- 


v.^^ 


mi^:  I 


;^1f 

M 

'•iff 


304 


//   FRESXIIMAiW  IN  AMERICA. 


tcnce  improved,  "you  were  an  officer  in  the  French 
army." 

'•  I  was,"  I  murmured,  in  the  same  position. 

•'  I  also  understand  you  fought  during  tiie  Franco. 
Prussian  war." 

"I  did,"  I  said,  resuming  a  horizontal  position. 

*'  May  1  ask  you  to  give  me  some  reminiscences  of 
the  Franco-Prussian  war — just  enough  to  fill  about  a 
column?" 

I  rose  and  again  sat  up. 

"  Free  citizen  of  the  great  American  Republic, 
said  I,  "  beware,  beware !  There  will  be  blood  shed 
in  this  room  to-night." 

And  I  seized  my  pillow. 

"  You  are  not  meaty,"  exclaimed  the  reporter. 

"  May  I  inquire  what  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
expression  is?"  I  said,  frowning;  "I  don't  speak 
American  fluently." 

"  It  means,"  he  replied,  '*  that  there  is  very  little  to 
be  got  out  of  you." 

"Are  you  going?"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  am." 

"■  Good-night." 

"  Good-night." 

I  bolted  the  door,  turned  out  the  gas,  and  "  re- 
retired." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  I  thought ;  "  perhaps  he  relied  on  me 
to  supply  him  with  material  for  a  column.  I  might 
have  chatted  with  him.  After  all,  these  reporters 
have  invariably  been  kind  to  me.  I  might  as  well 
have  obliged  him.     What  is  he  going  to  do?" 

And  I  dreamed  that  he  was  dismissed. 


W   /■■RKXa/.U.IX  IX   .IMEKICA.  305 

I  ought  to  have  known  better. 

This  morning  I  opened  the  Hr'ushville  Exprcs,  an.l 
to   my   stupefaction,  saw  a   coliimn   about   me.     Mv 
.mpress,ons  of  Bru.shville,  that  I    had  no  opportunity 
of  lookmg  at,  were  there.     Nay,  more.     I  would  blush 
to    record    here    the  exploits  I  performed  during  the 
Fra,.c>,  Prussian    war,  as    related    by  my  interviewer 
especaly   those   which   took  place   at  the  battle  o^ 
Gravelot  e,  where,  unfortunately,  I  was  not  present 
The  whole  thmg  was  well  written.     The  reference  to 
my  military  services  began  thus:  "  Last  night  a  hero 

o  tlbl'""?  7-;;^"-'''-"-'-'  --  ^'ept  under  the  hos- 
pitable  roof  of  Morrison  Hotel,  in  this  city." 

"  Slept !  ••    This  was  adding  insult  to  injury. 

What   do   you  think  of  Brushville?"  thev  said  • 
and,  seeing  that  I  would  not  answer  the  questio„,the; 

loud  on  the  subject.     I  have  no  doubt  that  the  after- 
noon  papers  will  publish  my  impressions  of  Brushville. 


(( 


re- 


'iu' 


II 


;!.    ^- 


1 

!  .'. 

:'^' 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

The  University  of  Indiana — Lndianapolis— The 
Veterans  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic 
on  the  SPRr-E— a  Marvelous  Equilibrist. 


Bloomington,  Ind.,  March  13. 

LECTURED  yesterday  before  the  students  of  the 
-^  University  of  Indiana,  and  visited  the  different 
buildings  this  morning.  The  university  is  situated  on 
a  hill  in  the  midst  of  a  wcod,  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  little  town  of  Bloomin^^ton. 

In  a  few  days  I  shall  be  at  Ann  Arbor,  the  Univer- 
sity of  Michigan,  the  largest  in  America,  I  am  told.  I 
will  wait  till  then  to  jot  down  my  impressions  of  uni- 
versity life  in  this  country. 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  read  in  the  papers :  "  Prince  Saunders,  colored, 
was  hanged  here  (Plaquemine,  Fla.)  yesterday.  He 
declared  he  had  made  his  peace  with  God,  and  his 
sins  had  been  forgiven.  Saunders  murdered  Rhody 
Walker,  his  sweetheart,  last  December,  a  few  hours 
after  he  had  witnessed  the  execution  of  Carter  Wil- 
kinson." 

If  Saunders  has  made  his  peace  with  God,  I  hope 
his  executioners  have  made  theirs  with  God  and  man. 
What  an  indictment  against  man  !    What  an  argument 

ao6 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


307 


against  capital  punishment !  Here  is  a  man  commit- 
ting a  murder  on  returning  from  witnessing  an  execu- 
tion. And  there  are  men  still  to  be  found  who  declare 
that  capital  punishment  deters  men  from  committing 
murder! 


niver- 
d.    I 
uni- 


lored, 
He 
id  his 
Lhody 
hours 
Wil- 

hope 

man. 

iment 


Indianapolis,  March  14. 

Arrived  here  yesterday  afternoon.  Met  James  Whit- 
comb  Riley,  the  Hoosier  poet.  Mr.  Riley  is  a  man  of 
about  thirty,  a  genuine  poet,  full  of  pathos  and  humor, 


VETERANS. 


and  a  great  reciter.  No  one,  I  imagine,  could  give  his 
poetry  as  he  does  himself.  He  is  a  born  actor,  who 
holds  you  in  su'^pense,  and  makes  you  cry  or  laugh 
just  as  he  pleases.  I  remember,  when  two  years  ago 
Mr.  Augustin  Daly  gave  a  farewell  supper  to  Mr.  Henry 


\\ 


ni 


308 


A    FREXCIIMAM  IN  AMERICA. 


Irvitifj  and  Miss  Ellen  Terry  at  Dclmonico's,  Mr.  Riley 
recited  one  of  his  poems  at  table.  He  gave  most  of  us 
a  big  lump  in  our  throats,  and  Miss  Terry  had  tears 
rolling  down  her  checks. 


\.\  ' 


m 


i^«f  :!i«lj 


'li  $ 


•|S 


Its      '1 


J.-    '^       ■" 


ill 


M    1 


The  veterans  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic 
are  having  a  great  field  day  in   Indianapolis.      They 


A   GKKAT    BALANCING    KKA]. 


have  come  here  to  attend  meetings  and  ask  for  pen- 
sions, so  as  to  reduce  that  unmanageable  surplus.  Ii  - 
dianapolis  is  full,  and  the  management  of  Denisou 
House  does  not  know  which  way  to  turn.  All  these 
veterans  have  large,  broad-brimmed  soft  hats  and  are 
covered  all  over  with  badges  and  ribbons.  Their  wives 
and  daughters,  members  of  some  patriotic  association, 
have  come  with  them.  It  is  a  huge  picnic.  The  en- 
trance hall  is  crowded  all  day.     The  spittoons  have 


j 


47,        the  Opera  House,  last  night.    Clara  Morris 


"IN  EUROPE  S,VAGGERma  L.TTLE  BOVS  SMOKE." 


-uths  out  of  twenty  were  chLng-rLntbro" 


n 


ili 


3IO 


//    FRENCH  MAN  IN  AMERICA. 


\:       I 


the  women  gum  impregnated  with  peppermint.  All 
the  jaws  were  going  like  those  of  so  many  ruminants 
grazing  in  a  field.  From  the  box  I  occupied  the  sight 
was  most  amusing. 

On  returning  to  Denison  House  from  the  theater,  I 
went  to  have  a  smoke  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  hall,  far 
from  the  crowd.  By  and  by  two  men,  most  smartly 
dressed,  with  diamond  pins  in  their  cravats,  and  flowers 
embroidered  on  their  waistcoats,  came  and  sat  opposite 
me.  I  thought  they  had  chosen  the  place  to  have  a 
quiet  chat^together.  Not  so.  One  pushed  a  cuspidore 
with  his  foot  and  brought  it  between  the  two  chairs. 
There,  for  half  an  hour,  without  saying  one  word  to 
each  other,  they  chewed,  hawked,  and  spat — and  had 
a  good  time  before  going  to  bed. 


Trewey  is  nowhere  as  an  equilibrist,  compared  to  a 
gallant  veteran  who  breakfasted  at  my  table  this  morn- 
ing. Among  the  different  courses  brought  to  him 
were  two  boiled  eggs,  almost  raw,  poured  into  a  tum- 
bler according  to  the  American  fashion.  Without 
spilling  a  drop,  he  managed  to  eat  those  eggs  with  the 
end  of  his  knife.  It  was  marvelous.  I  have  never 
seen  the  like  of  it,  even  in  Germany,  where  the  knife 
trick  is  practiced  from  the  tenderest  age. 

In  Europe,  swaggering  little  boys  smoke;  here  they 
chew  and  spit,  and  look  at  you,  as  if  to  say:  "See 
what  a  big  man  I  am  !  " 


All 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
Chicago  (Second  Vism—VAQCTTr  v 

CiTv-l  Sit  on  the  Tribunal  ^^^ 

ARPTVirr*    u  C^^i(:^go,  March  It 

Centra.  Music  H^inadvenfser  ^a  """''''' ^' '"^ 
local  manager  inform,  me  thA  '''""'''■''■•     "^ 

quired  at  ^the  box-officTwha    The"''  ^""^'^  "^^"^  '"■ 
French  word  is     As  h?  7  meaning  of  that 

could  not  enlighten  them  h"?.""!.*^""'^  '""''^'f'  ^e 
Will  draw  a  gofd'Lowd  To^ht'  '""'^  '"^  ^"^-''^ 

P.a«  ruf  aTei^agl"'  fj  ""'^  ''r  ^"'  "'^■•^'>  '^^ 
before  an  afterno  ^'audi  nc^  il^r';  7  ^^T^""" 
of  Eastbourne     Not  2T2^    !  fashionable  town 

serious  and  prosy  dtorsf  fn  •"T'^  ""  '"'''  °'  ^ 
can  the  ente'rtaiLent  "";«  '^r-  rl  "'''"'"'' '° 
full  and  the  affair  oasseH  off  I^  ™°"'  *='s 

lady,  who  was  a  vv.nt  ^'^  *^"-     2"'  ^n  old 

tainmentl^M  norl  r^n':'™""^  °'  ^"^^  ^"'- 

-.Had,.„'r:ifnr^rK::.urmti 

3" 


HHH 


312 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


%  ' 


I)  IT 


f  :■    ;  ;' 


Ilk 


n 


f 


f 


M  ■•m 


n 


§1 


'ill 


was  afraid  it  might  be  something  not  quite  fit  for  me 
to  hear."     Dear  soul ! 

•  •  •  •  • 

March  16. 

My  manager's  predictions  were  realized  last  night. 
I  had  a  large  audience,  one  of  the  keenest  and  the  most 
responsive  and  appreciative  I  have  ever  had.  I  was 
introduced  by  Judge  Elliott  Anthony,  of  the  Superior 
Court,  in  a  short,  witty,  and  graceful  little  speech.  He 
spoke  of  Lafayette  and  of  the  debt  of  gratitude  America 
owes  to  France  for  the  help  she  received  at  her  hands 
during  the  War  of  Independence.  Before  taking  leave 
of  me.  Judge  Anthony  kindly  invited  me  to  pay  a 
visit  to  the  Superior  Court  next  Wednesday. 
•  •  •  .  . 

March  17. 

Dined  yesterday  with  Mr.  James  W.  Scott,  pro- 
prietor of  the  Chicago  Herald,  one  of  the  most  flourish- 
ing newspapers  in  the  United  States,  and  in  the  evening 
went  to  see  Richard  Mansfield  in  "  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 
Hyde."  The  play  is  a  repulsive  one,  but  the  double 
impersonation  gives  the  great  actor  a  magnificent 
opportunity  for  the  display  of  his  histrionic  powers. 
The  house  was  crowded,  though  it  was  Sunday.  The 
pick  of  Chicago  society  was  not  there,  of  course.  Some 
years  ago,  I  was  told,  a  Sunday  audience  was  mainly 
composed  of  men.  To-day  the  women  go  as  freely  as 
the  men.  The  "  horrible  "  always  has  a  great  fascina- 
tion for  the  masses,  and  Mansfield  held  his  popular 
audience  in  a  state  of  breathless  suspense.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  disappointment  written  on  the  faces 
when  the  light  was  turned  down  on  the.  appearance  of 


\<v 


DEAR  SOUL  !  " 


314 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


(r    ! 


"  Mr.  Hyde,"  with  his  horribly  distorted  features.  A' 
woman,  sitting  in  a  box  next  to  the  one  I  occupied, 
exclaimed,  as  "  Hyde  "  came  to  explain  his  terrible 
secret  to  the  doctor,  in  the  fourth  act,  "  What  a  shame, 
they  are  turning  down  the  light  again  !  " 


i 


iV     '  ■ 


fi   ■ 


i.  i  • 


P 


1 , 


l!    1 


l! 


5^   I 


\ 


u 


,i* 


f,d 


March  i8. 
Spent  yesterday  in  recreation  intellectual — and 
otherwise.  I  like  to  see  everything,  and  I  have  no 
objection  to  entering  a  dime  museum.  I  went  to  one 
yesterday  morning,  and  saw  a  bearded  lady,  a  calf  with 
two  heads,  a  gorilla  (stuffed),  a  girl  with  no  arms,  and 
other  freaks  of  nature.  The  bearded  lady  had  very, 
very  masculine  features,  but  Jioni  soit  qui  mal y  peyise. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  of  one  of  General  Horace 
Porter's  good  stories.  A  school-master  asks  a  little 
boy  what  his  father  is. 

"Please,  sir,  papa  told  me  not  to  tell." 
'*  Oh,  never  mind,  it's  all  right  with  me." 
"  Please,  sir,  he  is  the  bearded  lady  at   the  dime 
museum." 

From  the  museum  I  went  to  the  free  library  in  the 
City  Hall.  Dime  museums  and  free  libraries — such  is 
America.  The  attendance  at  the  free  libraries  increases 
rapidly  every  day,  and  the  till  at  the  dime  museums 
diminishes  with  proportionate  rapidity. 

After  lunch  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  exhibition  of  Vassili 
Vereschagin's  pictures.  What  on  earth  could  possess 
the  talented  Russian  artist,  whose  coloring  is  so  lovely, 
to  expend  his  labor  on  such  subjects  !  Pictures  like 
those,  which  show  the  horrors  of  a  campaign  in  all 
their  hideousness,  may  serve  a  good  purpose  in  creat- 


A   FRENCHMAX  IX  AMERICA. 


\ 


ink^  a  <letestation  of  war  i„  all  who  see  them.     Nothing 

portrayal   of  such    infamies.     These    pictures    are   .n 

--y  n.,htmares  which  will  certainlySKu        ,' ",  : 

and  bram  for  days  and  nights  to  come.     Battle  L,u 

portrayed  with  a  real-  ^ 

ism  that   is  revolting, 

because,  alas,  only  too 

true.     The   execution 

of  nihilists  in   a  dim, 

dreary,    snow-covered 

waste.     An  execution 

of  sepoys,  the  doomed 

rebels     tied     to      the 
mouths  of   cannon 
about  to  be  fired  off. 
Scenes  of  torture,    il- 
lustrative   of   the    ex- 
tent to  which  human 
suffering  can    be    car- 
ried,   give    you    cold 
shudders  in  every  fiber 
of    your    body.      One 
horrid    canvas    shows 
a  deserted  battlefield, 
the    snow-covered 

ground    littered    witl,    corpses    that    ravens   are   te,r 
."g  and  fighting  for.     But,  perhaps  wors^  o/  nil    '  a" 
P.cture  of  a  field,  where,  in  the  snow,  lie  the  human 
rema,ns  of  a  company  of  Russian  soidiers  t^.o  7a' 
be  n  surpnsed  and  slain  by  Turks.     Among  the  bod  es 
outraged  by  horrible  and  nameless  mutilations  ".^Irs 


THE  1{1.;arI)ED  lauy.' 


[   I 

I  i 


\  I 


:iii 


( 


3i6 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


a  priest,  swinging  a  censer.  One  seems  to  be  pursued 
by,  and  impregnated  with,  a  smell  of  cadaverous  putre- 
faction. This  collection  of  pictures  is  installed  in  a 
place  which  has  been  used  for  stabling  horses  in,  and  is 
reeking  with  stable  odors  and  the  carbolic  acid  that 
has  been  employed  to  neutralize  them.  Your  sense  of 
smell  is  in  full  sympathy  with  your  horrified  sense  of 
sight :  both  are  revolted. 


\sv  -v 


Mi;  I 


\\'\ 
I    I 


il 


vM'i 


u 

.  ,    1 

it 

i 

* 

ifc;; 

:    ii 
I. 

\  i 

-1        'if 

l^'< 

i'-  i     \-  . 

4 

m 

.;  ^ 

'  .■■■¥■ 

-1 

^Biu^,iFl 

^^^Hm4U^. 

■ 

mm 

m 

Now,  behind  the  three  large  rooms  devoted  to  the 
Russian  artist's  works  was  a  small  one,  in  which  hung  a 
single  picture.  You  little  guess  that  that  picture  was 
no  other  than  Jean  Francois  Millet's  "Angelus." 
Millet's  dear  little  "  Angelus,"  that  hymn  of  resigna- 
tion and  peace,  alongside  of  all  this  roar  and  carnage 
of  battle!  The  exhibitor  thought,  perhaps,  that  a 
sedative  might  be  needed  after  the  strong  dose  of 
Vassili  Vcreschagin,  but  I  imagine  that  no  one  who 
went  into  that  little  room  after  the  others  was  in  a 
mood  to  listen  to  Millet's  message. 

•  •  •  •  • 

March  19. 

Yesterday  morning  I  went  to  see  the  Richmond 
Libby  Prison,  a  four-story,  huge  brick  building  which 
has  been  removed  here  from  Richmond,  over  a  dis- 
tance of  more  than  a  thousand  miles,  across  the  moun- 
tains of  Pennsylvania.  This  is,  perhaps,  as  the  cir- 
cular says,  an  unparalleled  feat  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  The  prison  has  been  converted  into  a  museum, 
illustrating  the  Civil  War  and  African  Slavery  in  Amer- 
ica.   The  visit  proved  very  interesting.     In  the  after- 


r 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


3'7 


lich 

Idis- 

)un- 

cir- 

the 

ium, 

ler- 

[ter- 


noon  I  had  a  drive  through  the  beautiful  parks  of  tlie 
city. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  see  "  Tannhauser  "  at  the 
Auditorium.  Outside,  tlie  building  looks  more  like  a 
penitentiary  than  a  place  of  amusement — a  huge  pile 
of  masonry,  built  of  great,  rough,  black-looking  blocks 
of  stone.  Inside,  it  is  magnificent.  I  do  not  know  . 
anything  to  compare  with  it  for  comfort,  grandeur,  and 
beauty.  It  can  hold  seven  thousand  people.  The 
decorations  are  white  and  gold.  The  lighting  is  done 
by  means  of  arc  electric  lights  in  the  enormously  lofty 
roof — lights  which  can  be  lowered  at  will.  Mr.  Peck 
kindly  took  me  to  see  the  inner  workings  of  the  stage. 
I  should  say  "  stages,"  for  there  are  three.  The  hy- 
draulic machinery  for  raising  and  lowering  them  cost 
$200,000. 

Madame  Lehmann  sang  grandly.  I  imagine  that 
she  is  the  finest  lady  exponent  of  Wagner's  music  alive. 
She  not  only  sings  the  parts,  but  looks  them.  Built 
on  grand  lines  and  crowned  with  masses  of  blond 
hair,  she  seems,  when  she  gives  forth  those  volumes  of 
clear  tones,  a  Norse  goddess  strayed  into  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

M.  Gounod  describes  Wagner  as  an  astounding 
prodigy,  an  aberration  of  genius,  a  dreamer  haunted 
by  the  colossal.  For  years  I  had  listened  to  Wagner's 
music,  and,  like  most  of  my  compatriots,  brought  up 
on  the  tuneful  airs  of  Bellini,  Donizetti,  Rossini,  Verdi, 
Auber,  etc.,  I  entirely  failed  to  appreciate  the  music  of 
the  future.  All  I  could  say  in  its  favor  was  some  vari- 
ation of  the  sentiment  once  expressed  by  Mr.  Edgar 
W.  Nye  ("  Bill  Nye  ")  who,  after  giving  the  subject 


(1^ 


mi 


3-8 


^1    FKEXCIIMAS'  IX  AMEKICA. 


||Mi  V- 


ft  .   .   I 


his  mature  consideration,  said  he  came  to  tlie  conchi- 
sion  tliat  Wagner's  music  was  not  so  bad  as  it  sounded. 
But  I  own  that  since  I  went  to  liayreuth  and  heard 
and  saw  tlie  operas  as  there  given,  I  began  not  only  to 
see  that  they  are  beautiful,  but  why  they  are  beautiful. 

Wagnerian  opera  is  a  poetical  and  musical  idealiza- 
tion of  speech. 

The  fault  that  I,  like  many  others,  have  fallen  into, 
was  that  of  listening  to  the  voices  instead  of  listening 
to  the  orchestra.  The  fact  is,  the  voices  could  almost 
be  dispensed  with  altogether.  The  orchestra  gives 
you  the  beautiful  poem  in  music,  and  the  personages  on 
the  stage  are  really  little  more  than  illustrative  pup- 
pets. They  play  about  the  same  part  in  the  work  that 
pictures  play  in  a  book.  Wagner's  method  was  some- 
thing so  new,  so  different  to  all  we  1  1  been  accus- 
tomed to,  that  it  naturally  provoked  i  indignation 
and  enmity — not  because  it  was  bad,  but  because  it 
was  new.  It  was  the  old  story  of  the  Classicists  and 
Romanticists  over  again. 

If  you  wanted  to  write  a  symphony,  illustrative  of 
the  pangs  and  miseries  of  a  sufferer  from  toothache, 
you  would,  if  you  were  a  disciple  of  Wagner,  write 
your  orchestral  score  so  that  the  instruments  should 
convey  to  the  listener  the  whole  gamut  of  groans — the 
temporary  relief,  the  return  of  the  pain,  the  sudden 
disappearance  of  it  on  ringing  the  bell  at  the  dentist's 
door,  the  final  wrench  of  extraction  gone  through  by 
the  poor  patient.  On  the  boards  you  would  put  a 
personage  who,  with  voice  and  contortions,  should 
help  you,  as  pictorial  illustrations  help  an  author. 
Such  is  the  Wagnerian  method. 


''   'AW:.\r//.\/..,.V  /.v  ,IMf:K,CA.  ^u) 

Vvi?^",-,''':  .,"'"':  '  T  ■■'  '•  '■"•'^''-'  "■•■^-■••■•'e.     Most 

a";rff;;:r:^t,,r;:^;:-;;-:i;- 
:^?^"  :::s::3  ^:^7;r '-;;:■' ---^'^'- 


A   TERRIBLE    WAGNERrjE." 


can.     They  will  tell  you  that  never  have  hor.es  neiVhed 
so  reahsfcally  as  they  do  in  the  "  VValkarc."     7^^ 
tha    this   ,s  almost  lo.erin.  n,„,,-e  to  the   level   o 
ventnloqu.sm,  and  they  will  <leclare  you  a  profa,  e  un 
wort  .y  to  hve.    My  VVagnerite  friend\olcl  I  la  t    'i^l  t' 

thaVVagners  work  constantly  improved  till  it  reached 
perfection  in  •'  Parsifal."     "  There  "  he  s-,       1   > 
oiiclxr  "4-1,^  •    1  ^i't-ic,    lie  said,  quite  sen- 

ously,    the  music  has  reached  such  a  state  of  perfection 


m  :  M 


„,=     i  ! 


32^' 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


;  i  !'• 


that,  in  the  garden  scene,  you  can  smell  the  violets 
and  the  roses." 

'-'  Well,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  heard  '  Parsifal '  in  Bay- 
reuth,  and  I  must  confess  that  it  is,  perhaps,  the  only 
work  of  Wagner's  that  I  cannot  understand." 

"  I  have  heard  it  thirty-four  times,"  he  said,  "  and 
enjoyed  it  more  the  thirty-fourth  time  than  I  did  the 
thirty-third." 

"  Then,"  I  remarked,  "  perhaps  it  has  to  be  heard 
fifty  times  before  it  can  be  thoroughly  appreciated. 
In  which  case,  you  must  own  that  life  is  too  short  to 
enable  one  to  see  an  opera  fifty  times  in  order  to  enjoy 
it  as  it  should  reall)/-  be  enjoyed.  I  don't  care  what 
science  there  is  aijout  music,  or  what  labors  a  musician 
should  have  to  go  through.  As  one  of  the  public,  I  say 
that  music  is  a  recreation,  and  should  be  understood  at 
once.  Auber,  for  example,  with  his  delightful  airs, 
that  three  generations  of  men  have  sung  on  their  way 
home  from  the  opera  house,  has  been  a  greater  bene- 
factor of  the  human  race  than  Wagner.  I  prefer 
music  written  for  the  heart  to  music  written  for  the 
mind." 

On  hearing  me  mention  Auber's  name  in  one  breath 
with  Wagner's,  the  Wagnerite  threw  a  glance  of  con- 
tempt at  me  that  I  shall  never  forget. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  to  regain  his  good  graces,  "  I  may 
improve  yet — I  will  try  again." 

As  a  rule,  the  Wagnerite  is  a  man  utterly  destitute 
of  humor. 


1^  >  ' 


'I 


\\  \ 


March  20. 
Yesterday  morning  I  called  on  Judge  Elliott  An- 


iV 


A  FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  321 

thony,  at  the  Superior  Tonrf      ti,     t   j      . 

to  sit  by  his  side  on  tL  fK       7       •^"''^"  '"^'^"^  "^^ 


I; 


if 


II 


r 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Ann  Arbor — The  University  of  Michigan — De- 
troit Again — The  French  Out  of  France — 
Oberlin  College,  Ohio — Black  and  White — 
Are  All  American  Citizens  Equal? 


r,;  ;J : 


I 
I 


Detroit,  March  22. 

ONE  of  the  most  interesting  and  brilliant  audiences 
that  I  have  yet  addressed  was  the  large  one 
which  gathered  in  the  lecture  hall  of  the  University  of 
Michigan,  at  Ann  Arbor,  last  night.  Two  thousand 
young,  bright  faces  to  gaze  at  from  the  platform  is  a 
sight  not  to  be  easily  forgotten.  I  succeeded  in  pleas- 
ing them,  and  they  simply  delighted  me. 

The  University  of  Michigan  is,  I  think,  the  largest 
in  the  United  States. 

Picture  to  yourself  one  thousand  young  men  and 
one  thousand  young  women,  in  their  early  twenties, 
staying  together  in  the  same  boarding-houses,  studying 
literature,  science,  and  the  fine  arts  in  the  sanne  class- 
rooms, living  happily  and  in  perfect  harmony. 

They  are  not  married. 

No  restraint  of  any  sort.  Even  in  the  boarding- 
houses  they  are  allowed  to  meet  in  the  sitting-rooms ; 
I  believe  that  the  only  restriction  is  that,  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  or  at  nine  (I  forget  which),  the 
young  ladies  have  to  retire  to  their  private  apartments. 

333 


■A  ■  , 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA, 


Z^~l 


-DE- 

CE— 
TE— 


ences 
-  one 
ity  of 
usand 
is  a 
ipleas- 

irgest 

and 
[nties, 
(dying 
1  class- 


rding- 
)oms ; 
J  eight 
(),  the 
lents. 


*'  But,"  some  European  will  exclaim,  "  do  the  young 
ladies' parents  trust  all  these  young  men?"  They  do 
much  better  than  that,  my  dear  friend — they  trust  their 
daughters. 

During  eighteen  years,  I  was  told,  three  accidents 
happened,  but  three  marriages  happily  resulted. 

The  educational  system  of  America  engenders  the 
high  morality  which  undoubtedly  exists  throughout 
the  whole  of  the  United  States,  by  accustoming  women 
to  the  companionship  of  men  from  their  infancy,  first 
in  the  public  schools,  then  in  the  high  schools,  and 
finally  in  the  universities.  It  explains  the  social  life  of 
the  country.  It  accounts  for  the  delightful  manner  in 
which  men  treat  women.  It  explains  the  influence  of 
women.  Receiving  exactly  the  same  education  as  the 
men,  the  women  are  enabled  to  enjoy  all  the  intellec- 
tual pleasures  of  life.  They  are  not  inferior  beings 
intended  for  mere  housekeepers,  but  women  destined 
to  play  an  important  part  in  all  the  stations  of  life. 

No  praise  can  be  too  high  for  a  system  of  education 
that  places  knowledge  of  the  highest  order  at  the  dis- 
posal of  every  child  born  in  America.  The  public 
schools  are  free,  the  high  schools  are  free,  and  the 
universities,*  through  the  aid  that  they  receive  from 
the  United  States  and  from  the  State  in  which  they 
are,  can  offer  their  privileges,  without  charge  for  tui- 
tion, to  all  persons  of  either  sex  who  are  qualified  by 
knowledge  for  admission. 

The  University  of  Michigan  comprises  the  Depart- 
rnent  of  Literature,  Science,  and  the  Arts,  the  Depart- 

*  A  fee  of  ten  dollars  entitles  a  student  to  the  privileges  of  per- 
manent membership  in  the  University. 


324 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


ment  of  Medicine  and  Surgery,  the  Department  of 
Law,  the  School  of  Pharmacy,  the  HomcEopathic 
Medical  College,  and  the  College  of  Dental  Surgery. 
Each  department  has  its  special  Faculty  of  Instruc- 
tion. 

I  count  ii8  professors  on  the  staff  of  the  different 
faculties. 

The  library  contains  70,041  volumes,  14,626  unbound 
brochures,  and  514  maps  and  charts. 

The  University  also  possesses  beautiful  laboratories, 
museums,  an  astronomical  observatory,  collections, 
workshops  of  all  sorts,  a  lecture  hall  capable  of  accom- 
modating over  two  thousand  people,  art  studios,  etc., 
etc.  Almost  every  school  has  a  building  of  its  own, 
so  that  the  University  is  like  a  little  busy  town. 

No  visit  that  I  have  ever  paid  to  a  public  institution 
interested  me  so  much  as  the  short  one  paid  to  the 
University  of  Michigan  yesterday. 


Mil 


Dined  this  evening  with  Mr.  W.  H.  Brearley,  editor 
of  the  Detroit  JotirnaL  Mr.  Brearley  thinks  that  the 
Americans,  who  received  from  France  such  a  beautiful 
present  as  the  statue  of  **  Liberty  Enlightening  the 
World,"  ought  to  present  the  mother  country  of  General 
Lafayette  with  a  token  of  her  gratitude  and  affection, 
and  he  has  started  a  national  subscription  to  carry  out 
his  idea.  He  has  already  received  support,  moral  aiid 
substantial.  I  can  assure  him  that  nothing  would 
touch  the  hearts  of  the  French  people  more  than  such 
a  tribute  of  gratitude  and  friendship  from  the  other 
great  republic. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


ation.  """S   ""^"^   Christian  Associ- 

resti^; -rDltLT'  '  ""  ""  '"'^^"'--"S  F.enchn,an 

D^Ln.  rri?':;:::;::  ^''•^'•;^.  -^ «-  -^^-  - 

people  living  here,"  I  sTid  to'lX  °'*""'  ^""^'' 

'■  bufc:rnt^:\TeT"/r' '  ''^"■^^^'"  >-  -'"-'). 

ciiiiiy  we  are  about  twenty  tliousand  " 
He  smiled. 

'his  city,  so  as  to  e  tabl  sirf        ,?"•'  '"""^''  ^'"^s  in 
ou.  compatriots,  bt^t ^iS  ^rS"-  ^^"^ 
How  ,s  that?"  I  asked. 

^eiit^t  ^tiS:nts^'' T?"  ^^^"'^^  -  *"=  P--- 
tl.emselves."       ^  ^"''^"''-      They    quarreled    among 

sai;^t::;^i":;txrr".^'^^'^-^----"i 

secretary,  and   the^^^  h  /"  'sI^^'^P^'^^''''^"'^'  °"e 
sixth  cannot  obtain  a    nffl  '•''"■''"^-      ^^  "'^ 

and  .o  about  ab^^^f^ r^' •'•  "'  "^  ^^"'  -^'•- 
ihats  just  What  happened." 


li 


326 


J    FREXCIIMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


suspicious  person,  who  spends  his  hfe  in  thinking  that 
everybody  wants  to  tread  on  his  corns. 

"  When  two  Frenchmen  meet  in  a  foreign  land," 
goes  an  old  ^aying,  "  there  is  one  too  many." 

In  Chicago  there  are  two  Frenchmen  engaged  in 
teaching  the  natives  of  the  city  "how   to  speak  and 


THE  TWO   FRENCHMEN. 


H- 


]r 


N 


write  the  French  language  correctly."  The  people  of 
Chicago  maintain  that  the  streets  are  too  narrow  to 
let  these  two  Frenchmen  pass,  when  they  walk  in  op- 
posite directions.  And  it  appears  that  one  of  them 
has  lately  started  a  little  French  paper — to  abuse  the 
other  in. 

I  think  that  all  the    faults  and   weaknesses  of  the 
French  can    be  accounted  for  by  the  presence  of  a 


that 


defect,    jealousy;    and    the    absence    of 

humor.  aoscnce    of    a    quality, 


Have  to-night  given  a  lee.  '      '  '"'"'"'  '*■ 

Oberiin  Colleg'e.  aTe  gious     s^ut!:  '1"^  ''f'"'^  "' 
'-;e  Rev.  Charles  Finn^  he  f  .'or  °Vr"t'  '^  ""= 

.-- voice,  they  s.y,:,e„hr;e:2::t:;:r 
au£cTSju°rt;::3::r^'^  -'"'-'-■  '>-■•"- 

ably  discovered  by    I  fs  timfn   ?!'    '"'  '"^  "^^  P-^- 
Ober-h  College  any  1    "  h  ''t  '^  ""'  ^^"'-^"^  i" 

of  an  American  theater  '"  "'"  °*'^''"'^^  ^'alls 

"antfa^e^i^/qulrrtr"   --'^'•"^^  '^^ 
America  (m.ich  less  ,til    1'  ?'''""'  ■"<='  *  man  in 

or  who  acted  upon  It  """""^  ^''°  ''^■''^^ed  this 

peo'jre.^rixrsror^^^^^^^^^^  t  '-  -■-- 

-as   told  yesterday  that  a  r    '  ettle       .'''"■°"'  ' 
mulatto  resident,  who  had     '"^  "*"'''=   ^"^^    wealthy 

Of  the  leading  -sttrtt'o^^.r/rlT"  r"' 
action  against  the  pronrietor  h  ?!>  '     """"S^'^'  «" 

was  no  dispute  of  The  fac  r'th  '       '°"^''  ''"''' 

cided  against  the  pla    Hff  t,       '""^  ""animously  de. 
lepla    t'ff,  who  was  moreover  mulcted 


328 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


v  \    wS 


in  costs  to  a  heavy  amount,  hut  all  this  is  nothing: 
the  Young  Men's  Ciiristian  Association,  one  of  the 
most  representative  and  influential  corporations  in  the 


f< 


THE   NEGRO. 


United  States,  refuses  to  admit  colored  youths  to 
membership. 

It  is  just  possible  that  in  a  few  years  colored  stu- 
dents will  have  ceased  to  study  at  Oberlin  College. 

I  can  perfectly  well  understand  that  Jonathan 
should  not  care  to  associate  too  closely  with  the  col- 
ored people,  for,  although  they  do  not  inspire  me  with 
repulsion,  still  I  cannot  imagine — well,  I  cannot  under- 
stand for  one  thing  how  the  mulatto  can  exist.    \ 

But  since  the  American   has  to  live  alongside  the 


negro,  would  it  not   be  wmH,   k.v      1  -i 

politely  and  hones  ly  ,Wve      J  L"  '        '°  ""'■"'"''" 
i.  •     1  .  v,.T.ii^,  ^ivc  jiim  ills  cue  as  an  rnml    ;f 

not  m  l„s  eyes,  at  any  rate  in  the  eyes  o    ,1  '  hw 
Won  d  ;t  „„,  be         ,„  l,,,  wl,i,e  to  reLmber  tha     L 
darky      cannot    be  gradually  disposed    of   like     le 
Indian,  for  Sambo  adapts  liimiplf  f„  i  • 

It  might  be  well  to  remember  too  thif  Jl  fl 
#»cf   ki^^  !•     1.  .  "iji-i,  luu,  mat  all  the  irrcat- 

est,  bloodiest  revolut  ons  the  worlrl  Inc  ^ 

skins  went  to  bind  the  hnnrlr^.io      f        P"''^se,    their 
.oc.k.     .„otber..Uncle'r^fcal^<I'r;y1tt 

se^tsiti]':^;:::  i-m-  ii-f  -  --ine- 

are  over.     If  the  nex     ^e'de     ia    el^K    ""^  ^'"'^ 
ontHe„e.ro,ne3tio.tl.esre1i:rorsr;;i," 


J,  I' 


1      I 


^1' 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal  in  New  York  —  Joseph 
Jefferson  — Julian  Hawthorne  —  Miss  Ada 
Rehan  —  "As  You  Like  It"  at  Daly's 
Theater. 


Nezv  York,  March  28. 

THE  New  York  papers  this  morning  announce  that 
the  "  Society  of  Young  Girls  of  Pure  Character 
on  the  Stage"  give  a  lunch  to  Mrs.  Kendal  to-morrow. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal  have  conquered  America. 
Their  tour  is  a  triumphal  march  through  the  United 
States,  a  huge  success  artistically,  financially,  and 
socially.    • 

I  am  not  surprised  at  it.  I  went  to  see  them  a 
few  days  ago  in  **  The  Ironmaster,"  and  they  de- 
lighted me.  As  Claire  Mrs.  Kendal  was  admirable. 
She  almost  succeeded  in  making  me  forget  Madame 
Jane  Hading,  who  created  the  part  at  the  Gymnase,  in 
Paris,  six  years  ago. 


v% 


\ 


This  morning  Mr.  Joseph  Jefferson  called  on  me  at 
the  Everett  House.  The  veteran  actor,  who  looks 
more  like  a  man  of  fifty  than  like  one  of  over  sixty,  is 
now  playing  with  Mr.  William  J.  Florence  in  "  The 
Rivals."  I  had  never  seen  him  off  the  stage.  I  im- 
mediately saw  that  the  characteristics  of  the  actor 
were  the  characteristics  of  the  man — kindness,  natural- 

330 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


331 


ness,  simplicity,  honJiomie,  and  finesse.     An   admirable 
actor,  a  great  artist,  and  a  lovable  man. 

At  the  Down-Town  Club,  I  lunched  with  the  son  of 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne — the  greatest  novelist  that 
America  has  yet  produced — Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne, 
himself  a  novelist  of  repute.  Lately  he  has  written  a 
series  of  sensational  novels  in  collaboration  with  the 
famous  New  York  detective,  Inspector  Byrnes.  Mr. 
Julian  Hawthorne  is  a  man  of  about  forty-five,  tall, 
well-proportioned,  with  an  artistic-looking  head 
crowned  with  grayish  hair,  that  reminds  a  Frenchman 
of  Alexandre  Dumas,  j'J'A-,  and  an  American  of  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne.  A  charming,  unaffected  man,  and  a  de- 
lightful causeur. 


ne  at 
looks 
ty,  is 
'The 
I  im- 
ctor 
ural- 


In  the  evening  I  went  to  Daly's  Theater  and  saw 
"  As  You  Like  It."  That  bewitching  queen  of  ac- 
tresses, Miss  Ada  Rehan,  played  Rosalind.  -Miss  Rehan 
is  so  original  that  it  would  be  perfectly  impossible  to 
compare  her  to  any  of  the  other  great  actresses  of 
France  and  England.  She  is  like  nobody  else.  She 
is  herself.  The  coaxing  drawl  of  her  musical  voice, 
the  vivacity  of  her  movements,  the  whimsical  spon- 
taneity that  seems  to  direct  he'r  acting,  her  tall,  hand- 
some figure,  her  beautiful,  intellectual  face,  all  tend  to 
make  her  a  unique  actress.  She  fascinates  you,  and 
so  gets  hold  of  you,  that  when  she  is  on  the  stage 
she  entirely  fills  it.  Mr.  John  Drew  as  Orlando  and 
Mr.  James  Drew  as  Touchstone  were  admirable. 

It  matters  little  what  the  play-bill  announces  at 
Daly's  Theater.  If  I  have  not  seen  the  play,  I  am 
sure  to  enjoy  it ;  if  I  have  seen  it  already,  I  am  sure 
to  enjoy  it  again. 


I 


:t  .■ '  ' 


Ijl 


i  I 


lf?i 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

Washington — The  City— Willard's  Hotel — The 
roLiTiciANs — General  Benjamin  Harrison,  U. 
S.  President  —  Washington  Society— Balti- 
more—riiiLADELPiiiA. 


hi 


Washington,  April  3. 
ARRIVED  here  the  day  before  yesterday,  and 
1\.  put  up  at  Willard's.  I  prefer  this  huge  hotel  to 
the  other  more  modern  houses  of  the  capital,  because 
it  is  thoroughly  American  ;  because  it  is  in  its  rotunda 
that  every  evening  the  leading  men  of  all  parties  and 
the  notables  of  the  nation  may  be  found  ;  because  to 
meet  at  Willard's  at  night  is  as  much  the  regular  thing 
as  to  perform  any  of  the  ofificial  functions  of  office 
during  the  day;  because,  to  use  the  words  of  a  guide, 
which  speak  the  truth,  it  is  pleasant  to  live  in  this  his- 
torical place,  in  apartments  where  battles  have  been 
planned  and  political  parties  have  been  born  or 
doomed  to  death,  to  become  familiar  with  surround- 
ings amid  which  Presidents  have  drawn  their  most  im- 
portant papers  and  have  chosen  their  Cabinet  Minis- 
ters, and  where  the  proud  beauties  of  a  century  have 
held  their  Court. 


S 


On  the  subject  of  Washington  hotels,  I  was  told  a 
good  story  the  other  day. 

339 


A  r'KExaiM.uv  IX  amekica. 


.ri3 


The  most  rishionablc  hold  of  this  r>>v  I.     • 
L^rown   ff«  CM..  .   n  ^^^y  havn)cr  out- 


EVENING  AT  WILLARD's. 


hire  trre  tr:;"  ■'•::'  "r  ^•^^^'  -"  «->-  --d 

had  been  contemplating  eniarg^  h/S/   d  atj 


I  I 


i 

IF 

If'  'IT 

'1  '^'^l  1 

« 

w 

l:j 

i 

■  i 
''    i 

' 

334 


y^   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


was  going  to  inquire  what  they  would  take  for  part  of 
their  hotel ! 


\h  ■■   ! 


It 


i 


How  beautiful  this  city  of  WashingtDn  is,  with  its 
wide  avenues,  its  parks,  anr!  its  buildings!  That  Cap- 
itol, in  white  marble,  standing  on  elevated  ground, 
against  abrignt  blue  sky,  is  a  poem — an  epic  poem. 

I  am  never  tired  of  looking  at  the  expanse  of  cloud- 
less blue  that  is  almost  constantly  stretched  overhead. 
The  sunsets  are  glorious.  The  poorest  existence  would 
seem  bearable  under  such  skies.  I  am  told  they  are 
better  still  further  West.  I  fancy  I  should  enjoy  to 
spend  some  time  on  a  farm^  deep  in  the  country,  far 
from  the  noisy,  crowded  streets,  but  I  fear  I  am  con- 
demned to  see  none  but  the  busy  haunts  of  Jonathan. 


;:l  1  If." 


it  ■  •      '. 

it'  i' 
8 II  i. 


hf 


t 


:i    I 


In  the  evening  I  went  to  what  is  called  a  colored 
church.  The  place  was  packed  with  negroes  of  all 
shades  and  ages ;  the  women,  some  of  them  very 
smartly  dressed,  and  waving  scarlet  fans.  In  a  pew 
sat  a  trio  truly  gorgeous.  Mother,  in  black  shiny 
satin,  light-brown  velvet  mantle  covered  with  irides- 
cent beads,  bonnet  to  match.  Daughter  of  fifteen  ; 
costume*  of  sky-blue  satin,  plush  mantle,  scarlet  red, 
chinchilla  fur  trimmings,  white  hat  with  feathers. 
Second  girl,  or  daughter,  light-blue  velvet,  from  top 
to  toe,  with  large  hat,  apple-green  and  gold. 

Every  one  was  intently  listening  to  the  preacher,  a 
colored  man,  who  gave  them,  in  graphic  language  and 
stentorian  voice,  the  scory  of  the  capture  of  the  Jews 
by  Cyrus,  their  slavery  and  their  delivery.  A  low  ac- 
companiment of "  Yes !  "  "  Hear,  hear !  "  "  Allelujah  ! " 


Dart  of 


ith   its 
It  Cap- 
Tound, 
)em. 
cloud- 
erhead. 
I  would 
hey  are 
njoy  to 
try,  far 
m  con- 
ithan. 

colored 
of  all 
very 
a  pew 
shiny 
irides- 
fteen  ; 
let  red, 
athers. 
m  top 

Icher,  a 

Ige  and 

le  Jews 

low  ac- 

ijah  ! " 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


335 


"  Glory  !  "  from  the  hearers,  showed  their  approbation 
of  the  discourse.  From  time  to  time,  there  would  be 
a  general  chuckle  or  laughter,  and  exclamations  of  de- 
light from  the  happy  grin-lit  mouths,  as,  for  instance, 
when  the  preacher  described  the  supper  of  Belshazzar, 
and  the  appearance  of  the  writing  on  the  wall,  in  his 
own  droll  fashion.  "'Let's  have  a  fine  supper,' said 
Belshazzar.  '  Dere's  ole  Cyrus  out  dere,  but  we'll 
Jiave  a  good  time  and  enjoy  ourselves,  and  nevci'  mind 


VJ^ 


A   GORGEOUS   TRIO. 


him.'  So  he  went  for  de  cups  dat  had  come  from  de 
Temple  of  Jerusalem,  and  began  carousin'  !  Dere  is 
Cyrus,  all  de  while,  marchin'  his  men  up  de  bed  ob  de 
river.  I  see  him  comin'  !  I  see  him  !  "  Then  he  pic- 
tured the  state  all  that  wicked  party  got  in  at  the 
sight  of  the  writing  nobody  could  read,  and  by  this 
time  the  excitement  of  the  congregation  was  tremen- 
dous. The  preacher  thought  this  a  good  opportunity  to 
point  a  moral.  So  he  proceeded  :  "  Now,  drink  is  a 
poor  thing  :  dere's  too  much  of  it  in  dis  here  city." 
Here  followed  a  picture  of  certain  darkies,  who  cut  a 


'!'i 


)* 


hi 


336 


y^    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


dash  with  shiny  hats  and  canes,  and  frequented  bars 
and  saloons.  "  When  folks  take  tc  drinkin*,  somefin's 
sure  to  go  wrong."  Grins  and  grunts  of  approbation 
culminated  in  perfect  shouts  of  glee,  as  the  preacher 
said :  "  Ole  Belshazzar  and  de  rest  of  'em  forgot  to 
shut  de  city  gate,  and  in  came  Cyrus  and  his  men." 

They  went  nearly  wild  with  pleasure  over  the  story 
of  the  liberation  of  the  Jews,  and  incidental  remarks 


THE   PREACHER. 


on  their  own  freeing.  "  Oh,  let  dem  go,"  said  their 
masters,  when  they  found  the  game  was  up,  "dey'll 
soon  perish  and  die  out ! "  Here  the  preacher  laughed 
loudly,  and  then  shouted  :  "  But  we  don't  die  out  so 
easy  '  "     [Grins  and  chuckling.] 

On€  old  negro  was  very  funny  to  watch.  When 
something  met  with  his  approval,  he  gave  off  a  little 
"  tchsu,  tchsu  ! "  and  writhed  forward  and  back  on  his 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


337 


their 
deyll 
ighed 
)ut  so 

little 
)R  his 


seat  for  a  moment,  apparently  in  intense  enjoyment ; 
then  jumped  off  his  seat,  turning  round  once  or  twice  ; 
then    he    would     listen  


W^- 


THE  OLD   NKCRO. 


intently     again,     as     if 
afraid  to  lose  a  word. 

*'  I  see  dis,  I  see  dat," 
said   the   preacher   con- 
tinually.     His   listeners  s 
seemed  to  see  it  too. 

»  •  •  • 

At  ten  minutes  to 
twelve  yesterday  morn- 
ing, I  called  at  the 
White  House.  The 
President  had  left  the 
library,  but  he  was  kind 
enough  to  return,  and 
at    twelve    I    had     the 

honor  to  spend  a  few  minutes  in  the  company  of 
General  Benjamin  Harrison.  Two  years  ago  I  was 
received  by  Mr.  Grover  Cleveland  with  the  same 
courtesy  and  the  same  total  absence  of  red  tape. 

The  President  of  the  United  States  is  a  man  about 
fifty-five  years  old ;  short,  exceedingly  neat,  and  even 
/  iherchtf  in  his  appearance.  The  hair  and  beard  are 
white,  the  eyes  small  and  very  keen.  The  face  is 
severe,  but  lights  up  with  a  most  gentle  and  kind 
smile. 

General  Harrison  is  a  popular  president ;  but  the 
souvenir  of  Mrs.  Cleveland  is  still  haunting  the  minds 
of  the  Washingtonians.  They  will  never  forget  the 
mo-"    beautiful  lady  who   ever  did  the  honors  of  the 


il 

1 

t     ^ 

f 

K     ' 

1 

1  '' 

■J  1 

fc«iii 


■(" 


hn 


.1.       J 


If      ^ 


fpil 

P   V, 

-1 

:] 

i                                ;  p 

'  ii 

'i-       "       ■  1 

'4 

;■     !      ■                  ffi 

\\ 

1 

l! 

1 

* 

1^. 

338 


^   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


White  House,  and  most  of  them  look  forward  to  the 
possibility  of  her  returning  to  Washington  in  March, 
1893. 

•  •  •  t  • 

Washington  society  moves  in  circles  and  sets.  The 
wife  of  the  President  and  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
the  Cabinet  Ministers  form  the  first  set — Olympus,  as 
it  were.  The  second  set  is  composed  of  the  ladies 
belonging  to  the  families  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme 
Court !  The  Senators  come  next.  The  Army  circle 
comes  fourth.  The  House  of  Representatives  supplies 
the  last  set.  Each  circle,  a  Washington  friend  tells  me, 
is  controlled  by  rigid  laws  of  etiquette.  Senators'  wives 
consider  themselves  much  superior  to  the  wives  of 
Congressmen,  and  the  Judges'  wives  consider  them- 
selves much  above  those  of  the  Senators.  But,  as  a 
rule,  the  great  lion  of  Washington  society  is  the  British 
Minister,  especially  when  he  happens  to  be  a  real  live 
English  lord.  All  look  up  to  him  ;  and  if  a  young 
titled  English  attacJid  wishes  to  marry  the  richest 
heiress  of  the  capital,  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  throw  the 
handkerchief,  the  young  and  the  richest  natives  do  not 
stand  the  ghost  of  a  chance. 

•  •  •  • 

Lectured  last  night,  in  the  Congregational  Church, 
to  a  large  and  most  fashionable  audience.  Senator 
Hoar  took  the  chair,  and  introduced  me  in  a  short, 
neat,  gracefully  worded  little  speech.  In  to-day's 
Washington  Star,  I  find  the  following  remark: 

The  lecturer  was  handsomely  introduced  by  Senator  Hoar,  who 
coml)ines  the  dignity  of  an  Englishman,  tlie  sturdiness  of  a  Scotch- 
man, the  savoir /aire  of  a  frenchman,  and  the  culture  of  a  Bos- 
tonian. 


The 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  ^^^^ 

What  a  strange  mixture  !  I  am  trying  to  find  where 
the  comphment  comes  in,  surely  not  in  '' the  .t  > 
fatre  of  a  P  rencliman  !  " 

Fidrrcmed^h-'"' '"''""' ■■"'-<^"«-n  to  Mi.ss Kate 
r  eld,  1  called  this  morning  at  the  office  of  this  i-.,lv 

who  ,s  characterized  by  a  prominent  journllijt       '•'  fe' 
very  brainiest  woman   in  the  United  States  "     Un 
fortunately  she  was  out  of  town 

ance  of  this  brilliant,  witty  woman,  who  speaks  I  nm 
told  as  she  writes,  in  clear,  caustic,  fearle  s  style 
My  intention  was  to  interview  her  a  bit.  A  le 'fam 
was  sent  to  her  in  New  York  from  her  secfe.at'lnd 
her  answer  was  wired  immediately:  "  Interview;^" 
So,  instead  of  interviewing  Miss  Kate  Fi    d   I  w      h> 

SioTrna;-;'^^^''^''-'''-^^-"^^"'^-^^;^-; 


Tu  Baltimore,  April  A. 

I  have  spent  the  day  here  with  some  friends. 

proving"  ''    "/  °'"  "  ^  ''"'•"'   '°"-^-  — vhat 

fngcitv      Th        ■      "  '"  '■"""=""y  n,iddle-class  look- 
ing city.     There  is  no  great  wealth  in  it,  no  great  act 
v.ty;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  ittle^poverty 
^.s  a  well   o  do  city  ^..  excellence.     The  famous  Joln^ 

i"rn  ;;;:»;',:"■"'"  '■  ■""•  '•"^  ^  ^^  -» surprised : 

A  beautiful  forest,  a  mixture  of  cultivated  park  and 

ng  the  bef  'f .'  '°    T  '■""^'^i'-"'  '•"  — er  and  dur! 
■ng  the  beautiful  months  of  September  and  October. 


':       » 


34° 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


\X\ 


^!' 


I  was  told  several  times  that  Baltimore  was  famous 
all  over  the  States  for  its  pretty  women. 

They  were  not  out  to-day.     And  as  I  have  not  been 

invited  to  lecture  in 
Baltimore,  I  must  be 
content  with  hoping 
to  be  more  lucky 
next  time. 

•  •  •  • 

Philadilphia,  April  5. 
After  my  lecture 
in  Association  Hall 
to-ni(;ht,  I  will  return 
to  New  York  to 
spend  Easter  Sunday 
|(^  with  my  friends. 
Next  Monday  off 
again  to  the  West, 
to  Cincinnati  again,  to  Chicago  again,  and  as  far  as 
Madison,  the  State  city  of  Wisconsin. 

By  the  time  this  tour  is  finished — in  about  three 
weeks — I  shall  have  traveled  something  like  thirty 
thousand  miles. 

The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  feel  the  truth  of 
this  statement,  which  I  made  in  "  Jonathan  and  His 
Continent "  :  To  form  an  exact  idea  of  what  a  lecture 
tour  is  in  America,  just  imagine  that  you  lecture  to- 
night in  London,  to-morrow  in  Paris,  then  in  Berlin, 
then  in  Vienna,  then  in  Constantinople,  then  in  Tehe- 
ran, then  in  Bombay,  and  so  forth.  With  this  difference, 
that  if  you  had  to  undertake  the  work  in  Europe,  at  the 
end  of  a  week  you  would  be  more  dead  than  alive. 


A  BALTIMORE  WOMAN. 


famous 

lot  been 

cture  in 

must  be 

hoping 

lucky 


April  t^. 

lecture 
)n  Hall 
1  return 
)  r k  to 
Sunday 

ends, 
day  off 
:  West, 
;  far  as 

it  three 
thirty 

ruth  of 
nd  His 
lecture 
Lire  to- 
Berlin, 
\  Tehe- 
erence, 
,  at  the 
ive. 


^   f'JiEArcmfA.V  fjv  AMERICA.  34, 

ger,  and  if  the  good   .  tenti.      '','"'^'  "°  ''^'  ^^  ^>^'"" 
good,  attentive,  pohte  railway  conduc 


THE   GOOD,    ATTENTIVE.    POLITE   CONDUCTOR 
OF    V\'r.i  A  Mr.  »  ^ivjK. 


OF   ENGLAND 


the  ..re  ^l^ 'ol ra:l7 """  '°  " """"'"' '°' 


1 


11  * 


;!;l    :l 


i'lf 


!'/;:.  ir 


CHAPTER  XL. 
Easter  Sunday  in  New  York. 


New  York,  April  6  {Easter  Sttnday.) 

THIS  morning  I  went  to  Dr.  Newton's  church  in 
Forty-eighth  Street.     He  has  the  reputation  of 
being  one  of  the  best  preachers  in  New  York,  and  the 

choir  enjoys  an  equally 
great  reputation.  The 
church  was  literally 
packed  until  the  ser- 
mon began,  and  then 
some  of  the  strollers 
who  had  come  to  hear 
the  anthems  moved  on. 
Dr.  Newton's  voice  and 
delivery  were  not  at  all 
to  my  taste,  so  I  did 
not  sit  out  his  sermon 
either.  He  has  a  big, 
unctuous  voice,  with 
the  intonations  and  in- 
flections of  a  showman 
at  the  fair.  He  has 
not  the  flow  of  ideas 
that  struck  me  so  forcibly  when  I  heard  the  late 
Henry  Ward   Beecher   in   London  ;   he   has   not  the 

342 


A   BELLOWING   SOPRANO. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA.  \^^ 

histrionic  powers  of  Dr.  Talmage,  either      Th. 
more  show  than  hp.nf,,  nk     .    ,       '^"^'^-      ^^ere  was 

lowing,  shriel<^"    ^  '^"'^  ^^^  '^"^'^' '--'     A  bel- 

fa  »"rieKing  boprano  overpowered   ill   fi,„     .1. 
ycces  m  the  choir,  i„cludi„„  t,, ,(    ''f,  '     '^  "'."l^^ 
tenor  that  deserved  to  be  heard  ^    ''""'"' 

Ev'^r/wl^t  t:""'  "'1'  "'^  ™^^  °"   Eas;er  Day. 
show^t  '  "'"  ''°""^'  ■-'"''  *alks  abroad  to 


'^1%. 


.  y 


^OME   EASTER    BONNETS. 


is  the  aristocrat  in"  2 'td'  The^S'  Td'  '' 
not  always  come  wiMi   fi,«  ^'^aagear.     It  does 

-.erourtrunnr: ;  ;:;"r::ti'"c  °"  °'  "^^ 

a  proud,  though  ephemeralTr  T  '°.~"1"er,  and 
on  the  daint^,ea1oT:t  y"o':'be,i'r^%P^'-^'''^^ 
earned  by  a  frocK  fro.n  FehVs  !r  RedtV"'  "'''"^- 

It.s  a  umque  sight.  Fifth  Avenue  on  Easter  Sunday 


ill 

i 


344 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


I 


i 


n  :■  i 


I    ^1    ■ 

i,  ■    f:' 


when   all   the  up-town  churches  have  emptied  them- 
selves of  their  gayly  garbed  worshipers. 

The    "four  hundred"  have  been  keeping  Lent  in 
polite,  if  not  rigorous,  fashion.     Who  shall  say  what  it 


KEEPING   LENT. 

has  cost  them  in  self-sacrifice  to  limit  themselves  to  the 
sober,  modest  violet  for  tabic  and  bonnet  decoration 
during  six  whole  weeks?  These  things  cannot  be 
lightly  judged  by  the  profane.  1  have  even  heard  of 
sweet,  devout  New  York  girls  who  limited  themselves 
to  one  pound  of  niarroiis  glact^s  a  week  during  Lent. 
Such  feminine  heroism  deserves  mention. 

And  have  they  not  been  sc^wing  flannel  for  the  poor, 
once  a  week,  instead  of  directing  the  manipulation  of 


W    FRENCHMAX  J\  AMERICA, 


345 


them- 


;nt  in 
hat  it 


to  the 

aration 

not  be 

aid  of 

nselves 

Lent. 


silk  and  gauze  for  their  own  fair  forms,  all  the  week 
long?  Who  shall  gauge  the  self-cotitrol  necessary  for 
fasting  such  as  this?  But  now  Dorcas  meetings  are 
over,  and  dances  begin  again  to-morrow.  The  Easter 
anthem  has  been  sung,  and  the  imported  bonnet  takes 


poor, 
:ion  o 


f 


A   CLUK    WINDOW. 

a  turn  on  Fifth  Avenue  to  salute  and  to  hob-nob  with 
Broadway  imitations  during  the  hour  between  church 
and  lunch.  To  New  Yorkers  this  Easter  Church 
parade  is  as  much  of  an  institution  in  its  way  as  those 
of  Hyde  Park  during  the  season  are  to  the  Londoners. 


mm    ■  ^^ 

Is 

1  lip 

Hi ' 

346 


A    J'KhXCJ/MAX   AV   AMERICA. 


It  was  plain  tliattbc  people  sauDtcriiig  leisurely  on  the 
broad  sidewalk's,  the  feminine  portion  at  least,  had  not 
come  out  solely  for  religious  exercise  in  chu  ,li,  but 
had  every  intention  to  see  and  to  be  seen,  especially 
the  latter.  On  niy  way  down,  I  saw  some  folks  who 
had  not  been  to  church,  and  only  wanted  to  see,  so 
stood  with  faces  glued  to  the  windows  of  the  big  clubs, 
looking  out  at  the  kaleidoscopic  procession  :  old 
bachelors,  I  daresay,  who  hold  the  opinion  that  spring 
bonnets,  whether  imported  or  home-grown,  ought  to  be 
labeled  "  dangerous."  At  all  events  they  were  gazing 
as  one  might  gaze  at  some  coveted  but  out-of-rcach 
fruit,  and  looking  as  if  they  dared  not  face  their  fasci- 
nating young  townswomen  in  all  the  splendor  of  their 
new  war  paint.  A  few,  perhaps,  were  married  men, 
and  this  was  their  quiet  protest  against  fifty-dollar 
hats  and  five-hundred-dollar  gowns. 

The    sight   was   beautiful   and   one  not  to  be    for- 
gotten. 


In  the  evening  I  dined  with  Colonel  Robert  G. 
Ingersoll  and  the  members  of  his  family.  I  noticed 
something  which  struck  me  as  novel,  but  as  perfectly 
charming.  Each  man  was  placed  at  table  by  the  side 
of  his  wife,  including  the  host  and  hostess.  This 
custom  in  the  colonel's  family  circle  (I  was  the  only 
guest  not  belonging  to  it)  is  another  proof  that  his 
theories  are  put  into  practice  in  his  house.  Dinner 
and  time  vanished  with  rapidity  in  that  house,  where 
everything  breathes  love  and  happiness. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

I  Mount  thk  Pulpit,  and  Preach  on  the  Sabhath, 
IN  THE  State  of  Wisconsin— The  Audience  is 

LaROE  and  Al'l'RECIATINE  ;    BUT  I  I'ROBABLY  FaIE 

TO  Please  One  of  the  Congregation. 


for- 


Mihvaukee,  April  21. 
'T'O  a  certain  extent  I  am  a  believer  in  climatic  in- 
1.     fluencc,  and  am  inclined  to  think  that  Sabbath 
reformers  reckon   without    the  British  climate  when 
they  hope  to  ever  see  a  Britain  full  of  cheerful  Chris- 
tians.    M.  Taine,  in  his  "History  of  English  Litera- 
ture/'  ascribes  the  unlovable  morality  of  Puritanism  to 
the  influence  of  the  British  climate.     "  Pleasure  being 
out  of  question,"  he  says,  "under  such  a  sky,  the  Briton 
gave  himself  up  to  this  forbidding  virtuousness."     In 
other  words,  being  unable  to  be  cheerful,  he  became 
moral.     This  is  not  altogether  true.     Many  Britons  are 
cheerful  who  don't  look  it,  many  Britons  are  not  moral 
who  look  it. 

But  how  would  M.  Taine  explain  the  existence  of 
this  same  puritanic  "morality"  which  can  be  found 
under  the  lovely,  clear,  bright  sky  of  America.?  All 
over  New  England,  and  indeed  in  most  parts  of  Am- 
erica,  the  same  Kill-joy,  the  same  gloomy,  frowning 
Sabbath-keeper  is  flourishing,  doing  his  utmost  to  blot 
the  sunshine  out  of  every  recurring  seventh  day. 

347 


i! 


!;l! 


348 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


•f  s.     I 


il:      I 


Yet  Sabbath-keeping  is  a  Jewish  institution  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  Protestantism  ;  but  there  have 
always  been  Protestants  more  Protestant  than  Martin 
Luther,  and  Christians  more  Christian  than  Christ. 

Luther  taught  that  the  Sabbath  was  to  be  kept,  not 
because   Moses   commanded    it,   but    because   Nature 

teaches  us  the  necessity 
of  the  seventh  day's  rest. 
He  says  "  If  anywhere 
the  day  is  made  holy  for 
the  mere  day's  sake, 
then  I  command  you  to 
work  on  it,  ride  on  it, 
dance  on  it,  do  anything 
that  will  reprove  this  en- 
croachment on  Christian 
spirit  and  liberty." 

The  old  Scotch 
woman,  who  "did  nae 
think  the  bet^erer  on " 
the  Lord  for  that  Sab- 
bath-day walk  through 
the  cornfield,  is  not  a 
solitary  type  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  Christian.  BuL  it  is  when  these  Puritans  judge 
other  nations  that  they  are  truly  great. 

Puritan  lack  of  charity  and  dread  of  cheerfulness 
often  lead  Anglo-Saxon  visitors  to  France  to  misjudge 
the  French  mode  of  spending  Sunday.  Americans,  as 
well  as  English,  err  in  this  matter,  as  I  had  occasion 
to  find  out  during  my  second  visit  to  America. 

I  had  been  lecturing  last  Saturday  evening  in  the 


PURMAN   LACK   OF   CHEERFULNESS. 


A    FREArCllMX  /A'  AMERICA.  34, 

pretty  little  town  of  Whitewater,  i„  Wisconsin,  and 
rece.ved  an   invitation   from  a  minister  to  addrer' 

largest  churcl,  of  the  place  to  discuss  the  question, 
How  Sunday  should  be  spent."  I  at  first  declined 
on  the  ground  that  it  might  not  be  exactly  in  good 
taste  for  a  foreigner  to  advise  his  hosts  how  to  spend 
:5unday.  However,  when  it  was  suggested  that  I 
-ght  simply  go  and  tell  them  how  Sunday  as  „ 
m  France,  I  accepted  the  task. 

The  proceedings  opened  with  prayer  and  an  anthem  ; 
and  a  hymn  n,  praise  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath  having 
been  chosen   by  the   moderator,  I   thought   the  cas! 
oo^ced  bad  for  us  French  people,  and  tnal  I  was  go.ng 
to  cut  a  poor  figure.  ^     ^ 

The  first  speaker  unwittingly  came  to  my  rescue  by 
mak  ng  an  onslaught  upon  the  French  mode  of  spend 
■ng  the  seventh  day.     ■"  With  all  due  respect  to  the 
nat.ve  country  of  our  visitor,"  said  he,  "  I  am  bound  to 
s..y  that  on  the  one  Sunday  which  I  spent  in  Paris  I 
saw  a  great  deal  of  low  immorality,  and  I  could  n'o 
help  comn,g  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  due  to  the 
fact  of  the  French  not  being  a  Sabbath-keeping  peo- 
ple.       He  wound    up    with    a   strong  appeal   to  his 
ownsmen  to  beware  of  any  temptation  to  relax  in 
by  MLeT"""  °'  ""  '°"""  — ••"''--t  as  given 

I  was  ca'led  upon  to  speak  next.     I  rose  in  my  pew 
but  was  requested  to  go  into  the  rostrum.  ' 

W,th  alacrity  I  stepped  forward,  a  little  staggered 
perhaps  at  finding  myself  for  the  first  time  in  apulpit' 
but  quite  ready  for  the  fray.  ^   ' 


I 


HI 


W 


I 


III 


.!   n 


m  i 
ii 


III 


350 


^    FRBhWCIIMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


"  I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  **  to  hear  the  remarks  made  by 
the  speaker  who  has  just  sat  down.  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, help  thinking  that  if  our  friend  had  spent  that 
Sunday  in  Paris  in  respectable  places,  he  would  have 
been  spared  the  sight  of  any  low  immorality.  No 
doubt  Paris,  like  every  large  city  in  the  world,  has  its 
black  spots,  and  you  can  easily  discover  them,  if  you 
make  proper  inquiries  as  to  where  they  jjre,  and  if  you 
are  properly  directed.  Now,  let  me  ask,  where  did  he 
go?  I  should  very  much  like  to  know.  Being  an  old 
Parisian,  I  have  still  in  my  mind's  eye  the  numerous 
museums  that  are  open  free  to  the  people  on  Sundays. 
One  of  the  most  edifying  sights  in  the  city  is  that  of 
our  peasants  and  workmen  in  their  clean  Sunday 
blouses  enjoying  themselves  with  their  families,  and 
elevating  their  tastes  among  our  art  treasures.  Did 
our  friend  go  there  ?  I  know  there  are  places  where 
for  little  money  the  symphonies  of  Beethoven  and 
other  great  masters  may  be  and  are  enjoyed  by  thou- 
sands every  Sunday.  Did  our  friend  go  there? 
Within  easy  reach  of  the  people  are  such  places  as 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  the  Garden  of  Acclimation, 
where  for  fifty  centimes  a  delightful  day  may  be  spent 
among  the  lawns  and  flower-bed'=:  of  that  Parisian 
"Zoo."  Its  goat  cars,  ostrich  cars,  its  camel  and  ele- 
phant drives  make  it  a  paradise  for  children,  and  one 
might  see  whole  families  there  on  Sunday  afternoons 
in  the  summer,  the  parents  refreshing  their  bodies 
with  this  contact  with  nature  and  their  hearts  with  the 
sight  of  the  children's  glee.  Did  our  friend  go  there  ? 
We  even  have   churches  in  Paris,  churches  that   are 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


351 


crammed  from  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  one  in 
the  afternoon  with  worshipers  who  go  on  their  knees 
to  God.  Now,  did  our  friend  go  to  church  on  that 
Sunday?  Well,  where  did  he  go?  I  am  quitting 
Whitewater  to-morrow,  and  I  leave  it  to  his  townspeo- 
ple to  investigate  the  matter.  When  I  first  visited 
New  York,  stories  were  told  me  of  strange  things  to 
be  seen  thei:e  even  on  a  Sunday.  Who  doubts,  I 
repeat,  that  every  great  city  has  its  black  spots?  I 
had  no  desire  to  see  those  of  New  York,  there  was  so 
much  that  was  better  worth  my  time  and  attention. 
If  our  friend,  our  observing  friend,  would  only  have 
done  in  Paris  as  I  did  in  New  York,  he  would  have 
seen  very  little  low  immorality." 

The  little  encounter  at  Whitewater  was  only  one 
more  illustration  of  the  strange  fact  that  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  who  is  so  good  in  his  own  country,  so  constant 
in  his  attendance  at  church,  is  seldom  to  be  seen  in  a 
sacred  edifice  abroad,  unless,  indeed,  he  has  been  led 
there  by  Baedeker. 

And  last  night,  at  Whitewater,  I  went  to  bed  pleased 
with  myself,  like  a  man  who  has  fought  for  his  country. 


When  I  am  in  France,  I  often  bore  my  friends  with 
advice,  and  find,  as  usual,  that  advice  is  a  luxurious 
gift  thoroughly  enjoyed  by  the  one  who  gives  it. 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  do  these  things,"  I  say  to 
them  ;  "  in  England  or  in  America,  they  are  much 
more  intelligent;  they  do  like  this  and  like  that." 
And  my  friends  generally  advise  me  to  return  to  Eng- 


I's 


in, 


1.  fi 


III 


ill  Hi 

R  J  1 


jlti 


II 


352 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


land  or  America,  where  things  are  so  beautifully  man- 
aged. 

But,  when  I  am  out  of  France,  the  old  Frenchman  is 
all  there,  and  if  you  pitch  into  my  mother  country,  I 
stand  up  ready  to  fight  at  a  minute's  notice. 


ir'ii'  li 


!   M 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
The  Origin  of  American  Humor  and  Its  Char 

ACTERISTICS-THE    SacREO   AND    THE    PROFANE- 

The    Germans    and   American    Humor -My 

oZoN.'^'''''^   "''""'''"    ^^    ""^     IMPRESARIOS 


H  Madison,  Wis.,  April  22. 

AVE  been  lecturing  during  the  past  fortnight  in 
about  twelve  places,  few  of  which  possessed  any 
interest  whatever.     One  of  them,  however-Cincinnat^ 
—I  was  glad  to  see  again. 

ThUtown  of  Madison  is  the  only  one  that  has  really 
struck  me  as  being  beautiful.  From  the  hills  the  scenery 
IS  perfectly  lovely,  with  its  wooded  slopes  and  lakes 
Through  the  kindness  of  Governor  Hoard.  I  have  had 
a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  neighborhood  ;  for  he 
has  driven  me  in  his  carriage  to  all  the  prettiest  spots 
delighting  me  all  the  while  with  his  conversation.  He 
.s  one  of  those  Americans  whom  you  may  often  meet  if 

!Ih    'm       ^   ^'    ^"^  personification  of  unaffected 
good-fellowship. 

The  conversation  turned  on  htimor 

I  have  always  wondered  what  the  origin  of  American 

humorcan  be:  where  is  or  was  the  fountain-head.     You 
certainly  find  humor  in  England  among  the  cultured 


353 


(I 


354 


A    FRENCHMAIV  IN  AMERICA. 


classes,  but  the  class  of  E.  ;Hsh  people  who  emigrate 
cannot  have  imported  much  humor  into  America. 
Surely  Germany  and  Scandinavia  cannot  have  contrib- 
uted to  the  fund,  either.  The  Scotch  have  dry,  quiet, 
pawky,  unconscious  humor;  but  their  influence  can 
hardly  have  been  great  enough  to  implant  their  quaint 
native  "wut  "  in  American  soil.  Again,  the  Irish  bull 
is  droll,  but  scarcely  humorous.  The  Italians,  the  Hun- 
garians, have  never  yet,  that  I  am  aware  of,  been  sus- 
pected of  even  latent  humor. 

What  then,  can  be  the  origin  of  American  humor,  as 
we  know  it,  with  its  naive  philosophy,  its  mixture  of 
the  sacred  and  the  profane,  its  exaggeration  and  that 
preposterousness  which  so  completely  staggers  the 
foreigner,  the  French  and  the  German  especially  ? 

The  mixing  of  sacred  with  profane  matter,  no  doubt, 
originated  with  the  Puritans  themselves,  and  is  only 
an  outcome  of  the  cheek-by-jowl,  next-door-neighbor 
fashion  of  addressing  the  Higher  Powers,  which  is  so 
common  in  the  Scotch.  Many  of  us  have  heard  of  the 
Scotch  minister,  whom  his  zeal  for  the  welfare  of  mis- 
sionaries moved  to  address  Heaven  in  the  following 
manner:  "  We  commend  to  thy  care  those  missionaries 
whose  lives  are  in  danger  in  the  Fiji  Islands  .... 
which,  Thou  knowest,  are  situated  in  the  Pacific  Ocean." 
And  he  is  not  far  removed  in  our  minds  from  the  New 
England  pastor,  who  preached  on  the  well-known  text 
of  St.  Paul,  and  having  read  :  "All  things  are  possible 
to  me,"  took  a  five-dollar  bill  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
placing  it  on  the  edge  of  the  pulpit,  said  :  "  No,  Paul, 
that  is  going  too  far.  I  bet  you  five  dollars  that  you 
can't "     But  continuing  the  reading  of  the  text : 


A    I'RENCHMAN  L\  AMERICA. 


355 


N 


ew 


text 
sible 
ind 


aul 


yo 
lext 


u 


**  Through  Christ  who  strengtheneth  me,"  exclaimed, 
"  Ah,  that's  a  very  different  matter !  "  and  put  back  the 
five-dollar  bill  in  his  pocket. 

This  kind  of  amalgamation  of  the  sacred  and  pro- 


'ILi 


iSr^A  1. 


IHE   MISSIONARY    AND   THE    FIJIS. 

fane  is  constantly  confronting  one  in  American  soil, 
and  has  a  firm  foothold  in  American  humor. 

Colonel  Elliott  F.  Shepard,  proprietor  of  the  New 
York  Mail  and  Express,  every  morning  sends  to  the 
editor  a  fresh  text  from  the  Bibje  for  publication  at  the 
top  of  the  editorials.  One  day  that  text  was  received^ 
but  somehow  got  lost,  and  by  noon  was  still  unfound. 


t   i 

I    I 


l!^ 


I 


■\:j 


rfH 


;,/i, 


356 


//    FRENCIIMAIV  IN  AMEKICA 


I  was  told  that  "  you  should  have  heard  the  composi- 

tors'  room  ring  with  :    *  Where  can   that   d d  text 

be?'"  Finally  the  text  was  wired  and  duly  inserted. 
These  men,  however,  did  not  intend  any  religious  dis- 
respect. Such  a  thing  was  probably  as  far  from  their 
minds  as  it  was  from  the  minds  of  the  Puritan  preachers 
of  old.  There  are  men  who  swear,  as  others  pray, 
without  meaning  anything.  One  is  a  bad  habit,  the 
other  a  good  one. 

•  •  •  •  • 

All  that  naive  philosophy,  with  which  America 
abounds,  must,  I  fancy,  be  the  outcome  of  hardship  en- 
dured by  the  pioneers  of  former  days,  and  by  the 
Westerner  of  our  own  times. 

The  element  of  exaggeration,  which  is  so  character- 
istic of  American  humor,  may  be  explained  by  the 
rapid  success  of  the  Americans  and  the  immcnsit}/  of 
the  continent  which  they  inhabit.  Everything  is  on  a 
grand  scale,  or  suggests  hugeness.  Then  negro  humor 
is  mainly  exaggeration,  and  has  no  doubt  added  its 
quota  to  the  compound  which,  as  I  said  just  now, 
completely  staggers  certain  foreigners. 

Governor  Hoard  was  telling  me  to-day  that  a  Ger- 
man was  inclined  to  be  offended  with  him  for  saying 
that  the  Germans,  as  a  rule,  were  unable  to  see  through 
an  American  joke,  and  he  invited  Governor  Hoard  to 
try  the  effect  of  one  upon  him.  The  governor,  there- 
upon told  him  the  story  of  the  tree,  *'  out  West,"  which 
was  so  high  that  it  took  two  men  to  see  to  the  top. 
One  of  them  saw  as  far  as  he  could,  then  the  second 
started  from  the  place  where  the  first  stopped  see- 
ing, and  went    on.      The    recital   did    not    raise    the 


X 


M 


THAl's   A   TAMNT   LIE  !  " 


IM 


358 


.^    FA'EXCI/MAX  IN  AMERICA, 


/(!• 


wu 


ghost  of  a  smile,  and  Governor  Hoard  then  said  to 
the  German:  "Well,  you  see,  the  joke  is  lost  upon 
you  ;  you  can't  see  American  humor." 

"  Oh,  but,"  said  the  German,  "  that  is  not  humor, 
that's  a  tamnt  lie  !" 

And  he  is  still  convinced  that  he  can  see  through  an 
American  joke. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Grand  Rapids,  April  24. 

Have  had  to-day  a  lovely,  sublime  example  of  that 
preposterousness  which  so  often  characterizes  Ameri- 
can humor. 

Arrived  here  this  morning  from  Chicago.  At  noon, 
the  Grand  Rapidite  who  was  "  bossing  the  show" 
called  upon  me  at  the  Morton  House,  and  kindly  in- 
quired whether  there  was  anything  he  could  do  for 
me.  Before  leaving,  he  said:  "While  I  am  here,  I 
may  as  well  give  you  the  check  for  to-night's  lecture." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  I  said;  "but  don't  you  call 
that  risky  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  may  die  before  the  evening." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  interrupted.  "  I'll  exhibit 
your  corpse  ;  I  guess  there  will  be  just  as  much  money 
m  it! 


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ies. A  draughtsman,  who  is  employed  to  design  ar- 
tistic things  for  the  largest  of  these  manufactories, 
kindly  showed  me  over  the  premises  of  his  employers. 
I  was  not  very  surprised  to  hear  that  when  the  vari- 
ous retail  houses  come  to    make   their  yearly   selec- 


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A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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tions,  they  will  not  look  at  any  models  of  the  previous 
season,  so  great  is  the  rage  for  novelties  in  every 
branch  of  industry  in  this  novelty-loving  America. 

No  sinecure,  that  draughtsman's  position,  I  can  tell 
you. 

Over  in  Europe,  furniture  is  reckoned  by  periods. 
Here  it  i;?  an  affair  of  seasons. 

Very  funny  to  have  to  order  a  new  sideboard  or 
wardrobe,  "to  be  sent  home  without  delay"  for  fear  of 
its  being  out  of  date. 


m: 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

GooD-BY  TO  America-Not  "  Adieu,"  but  -Au 
Revoir  "-On  Board  the  -  Teutonic  "-Home 
Again. 


Neiv  York,  April  26. 

THE  last  two  days  have  vanished  rapidly  in  pav- 
ing calls.  ^  -^ 

This  morning  my  impresario  gave  me  a  farewell 
breakfast  at  the  Everett  House.  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman  was  there  ;  Mark  Twain,  George  Kennan 
General  Horace  Porter,  General  Lloyd  Bryce,  Richard 
Watson  Glider,  and  many  others  sat  at  table,  and 
joined  m  wishing  me  don  voyage. 

Good-by,  my  dear  American  friends,  I  shall  carry 
away  sweet  recollections  of  you,  and  whether  I  am  re- 
invited  in  your  country  or  not,  1  will  come  again. 

April  27. 
The  saloon    on   board    the    Teu/onic    is    a   mass  of 
floral    offerings    sent    by    friends   to   the   passengers. 
Two  huge    beautiful    baskets  of   lilies   and  roses  are 
mine. 

The  whistle  is  heard  for  the  third  time.  The  hands 
are  pressed  and  the  faces  kissed,  and  all  those  who  are 
not  passengers  leave  the  boat  and  go  and  take  up  posi- 
tion on  the  wharf  to  wave  their  handkerchiefs  until  the 

361 


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TWO   BASKETS   FOR   ME. 


A   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


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Steamer  is  out  of  sight.  A  great  many  among  the 
dense  crowd  are  friendly  faces  familiar  to  me. 

The  huge  construction  is  set  in  motion,  and  gently 
and  smoothly  glides  from  the  docks  to  the  Hudson 
Kiver.     The  sun  is  shining,  the  weather  glorious. 

lie  faces  on  land  get  less  and  less  distinct.  For 
the  last  time  I  wave  my  hat. 

Hallo,  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  Upon  my 
word,  I   believe   I  am  sad.     I  go  to  the  library,  and, 


THE    "TEUTONIC." 

like  a  child,  seize  a  dozen  sheets  of  note  paper  on 
which  I  write :  "  Good-by."  I  will  send  them  to  New 
York  from  Sandy  Hook. 

The  Tetaonu-  is  behaving  beautifully.  We  pass 
Sandy  Hook.  The  sea  is  perfectly  calm.  Then  I 
think  of  my  dear  ones  at  home,  and  the  happiest 
thoughts  take  the  place  of  my  feelings  of  regret  at 
leaving  my  friends. 

My  impresario,  Major  J.  B.  Pond,  shares  a  beautiful, 


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364 


/f   FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


well-lighted,  airy  cabin  with  me.  He  is  coming  to 
England  to  engage  Mr.  Henry  M.  Stanley  for  a  lecture 
tour  in  America  next  season. 

The  company  on  board  is  large  and  choice.     In  the 


•  A   FEW   niSAPI'OINTED   STATESMEN. 

steerage  a  few  disappointed  American  statesmen  re- 
turn to  Europe. 

Oh  !  that  Teutonic  !  can  any  one  imagine  anything 
more  grand,  more  luxurious?  She  is  going  at  the  rate 
of  450  miles  a  day.  In  about  five  days  we  shall  be  at 
Queenstown. 


A    FRENCHMAN  IN  AMERICA. 


365 


Liverpool,  May  4. 
My  most  humble  apologies  are  due  to  the  Atlantic 
for  libeling  that  ocean  at  the  beginning  of  this  book. 
For  the  last  six  days  the  sea  has  been  perfectly  calm, 
and  the  trip  has  been  one  of  pleasure  the  whole  time' 
Here  is  another  crowd  on  the  landing-stage  at  Liver- 
pool. 

And  now,  dear  reader,  excuse  me  if  I  leave  you 
Yopwere  present  at  the  friendly  farewell  handshakings 
on  the  New  York  side;  but,  on  this  Liverpool  quay  I 
see  a  face  that  I  have  not  looked  upon  for  five  months 
and   having  a  great  deal   to  say  to   the  owner  of  it,  I 
will  politely  bow  you  out  first. 


Max  O'Rell's  Impressions  of  America  and  the  Amerlcaaa, 


!il!il 


JONATHAN  AND 
HTs  CONTINENT 

BY 

MA.X     C'RELIL. 
And  jack  ALLYN 

TRANSLATED  BY  MADAME  PAUL  BLOUMT, 
In  One  Elegant  i2mo  Volume. 

Extra  Cloth,  Gilt  Top,    -       -       Price,  $1.50. 
Paper  Binding,      -       -       -       -       *      30  cts. 


WHAT  THE  PRESS  SAYS: 


**  We  have  laughed  with  him  at  our  neighbors,  and  now  If  we  are  clever  we  wiQ 
laugh  with  him  at  ourselves." — Daily  Graphic,  N.  V, 

"  One  reads  the  book  with  a  perpetual  smile  on  one's  face,  punctuated  every 
now  and  then  by  a  loud  laugh,  as  one  follows  the  brilliant  Frenchman  through  his 
six  months'  tour  of  America.  ♦  *  *  He  has  glanced  at  things  with  the  eye  of 
a  trained  observer,  and  commented  upon  them  with  originality  and  humor.  *  *  ♦ 
One  lays  down  the  book  with  a  wish  that  one  might  know  its  author."— CitVa^ 
News. 

"  The  sensation  of  the  spring.  *  *  *  It  will  tickle  the  American  in  spots 
and  make  him  mad  in  spots,  but  it  will  be  read,  talked  of,  and  enjoyed." — Hotmt 
/ournal,  Boston, 

"  Undoubtedly  the  most  interesting  and  sprightly  book  of  the  season,  *  *  * 
II  is  rich  in  information." — Inter-Ocean,  Chicago, 


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••  Rarely  has  one  sprung  into  so  immediate  a  fame  in  two  continents." 

—Boston  Home  Journal. 

A  NEW  VOLUME  BY  MAX  O'RELL, 

AUTHOR   OF 

JOJVATHAAT  AND  Ills  CONTINENT. 

JACQUES   BONHOMME, 

JOHN  BULL   ON  THE  CONTINENT, 
and  FROM  MY  LETTER   BOX. 

By  MAX   O'RELL, 

Author  of  ^^  Jonathan  and  His  Continent;^  <^John  Bull  Jr.  ^^  etc.,  etc. 

I  vol.,  i2mo.  Paper,  50  cents.    Extra  Cloth,  75  cents. 

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French  as  She  is  Traducea. 

By    max    O'RELL, 

author  of 

JONATHAN  AND  HIS  CONTINENT. 

With  a  Preface  by  George  C.  Eggleston. 


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"  There  is  not  a  page  in  this  delightful  little  volume  that 
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"  One  expects  Max  O'Rell  to  be  distinctively  funny. 
He  is  regarded  as  a  French  Mark  Twain." — 7'he  Beacon. 

"  The  whole  theory  of  education  is  to  be  exiraited  from 
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